


for a little longer (i’ll hold your hand)

by peridott



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Ok I lied, also super self-indulgent, inspired by this one bollywood movie i watched, still don’t know how to tag, there is kind of a lot of angst, there is no brain no feelings just Woosang, wooyoung is annoying, yeosang is annoyed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 87,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24012562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peridott/pseuds/peridott
Summary: “Logistically, I’m meant to monitor you, because it’s not your property. Plus, for all I know, you’ve never seen a drone in your life.”“I haven’t.”When Wooyoung breaks Yeosang’s most expensive drone, he is forced to repay by paying for Yeosang’s weekly public transport fares.And at first, nothing changes. Then, everything changes.
Relationships: Jung Wooyoung/Kang Yeosang, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 46
Kudos: 134





	1. heaven can wait

**Author's Note:**

> hello! some notes before we get started~  
> \- _please_ heed the tags! i will put trigger warnings where they’re necessary, but i don’t want anyone going in to read this story without knowing what may make them uncomfortable/unsettled  
> \- not quite sure why i feel like i need to explain myself but i’m gonna do it anyway: this story is sort of all over the place at the start but it gets better i promise  
> \- i don’t know much about drones/engineering in general so any inaccuracies are a result of faulty research!  
> \- my first ateez fic :D
> 
> you can talk to me here in my [curious cat](http://curiouscat.me/joongsfenty) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/JIMINlFlED) where you can find the [moodboards](https://twitter.com/jiminlfled/status/1264489786359689220?s=21) for this fic <3

**[now]**

He doesn’t want to imagine anymore.

♤ ♤ ♤  
  


**[then]**

If Yeosang closed his eyes, he could imagine a prairie.

If he imagined hard enough, he could see large mountains surrounding the overgrown field. If he could put himself deeper into his own mind, he could imagine how the tall grass, accompanied with the stems of even taller sunflowers, would feel against his legs. There was only a light breeze, and yet it was enough to blow away the loose leaves of the pine trees in the distance. The sky was cloudless.

It was a rather idealistic landscape; Yeosang was sure the place didn’t exist in the area where he lived, but it didn’t hurt to imagine once in a while. It may have only been a picture he’d conjured in his head, but it was a nice escape from reality, even if it wasn’t all that tangible.

But, of course, reality would always overpower Yeosang’s imagination—proved when someone snapped their fingers in front of his face.

The prairie was gone in an instant, replaced by the face of a boy. It took Yeosang a moment to realise the boy was San. It took him a little longer to realise that he looked… scared.

Only when Yeosang dragged his gaze towards the front did he realise why—his professor had paused the lecture simply to glare at him, expression austere from disappointment. Yeosang surmised it was perhaps because he thought he’d fallen asleep.

He thought his professor should have gotten used to it by now; after all, engineering lectures were only so interesting. Yeosang only sighed, making uncomfortable eye contact with his professor, trying to indicate that he’d gotten the message. His professor shot him a look before focusing back on the screen, continuing to babble on about basic computer hardware.

Yeosang felt San tap his shoulder, and leaned in, lest he got caught out by the professor once again. San whispered, “When did you sleep last night?”

Yeosang didn’t say anything, merely holding up three fingers in response.

San sighed, a look of disappointment dominating his face.

To Yeosang and San’s absolute happiness, the bell chimed through the amphitheatre about three minutes before the class was set to finish. Without wasting any more time, the pair picked up their belongings and were the first to exit.

“Did you hear what the professor said?” asked San as the pair shouldered their way past the other students rushing in and out of various lecture halls and amphitheatres. Yeosang felt San’s hand gently grasp his bicep, indicating well and clear that the former was about to lose Yeosang in the sudden influx of students.

“No,” Yeosang managed to say, slightly having to shove someone out of his way.

Once they had finally made it to the library, San quickly rushed over to an empty study desk, making a conscious effort not to thud his books down too loudly on the table. San mumbled, “We have an assignment and it’s due right before our exams. We gotta make a drone.”

Yeosang had only sat down opposite San when he creased his brows in disbelief. “An assignment? Already? A… drone?”

“Yeah,” San confirmed rather disappointedly. If the sullen look on his face was any indication, this wasn’t quite what San was expecting, either. “We have to construct a drone of some sort.”

Yeosang couldn’t help the sad sigh that came out of his mouth. He’d known for a while that their second year in university wouldn’t be easy and that the workload would be gargantuan compared to last year’s, but he didn’t quite expect it to be a reality. It had always felt like a time so far away, so distant that he’d forgotten completely it would become a thing.

But now that it had, it seemed to be the only thing on his mind. Deliberately, Yeosang tried to change the topic in a futile attempt to stall thinking about it. “Where’s Yunho? He said he’d be here early.”

San pulled out his phone, swiftly checking the screen before replying. “He’s coming, just running a little late… Oh, and Yeonjun’s roommate is coming as well,” he added, shutting his phone off.

“Yeonjun’s roommate? He _has_ a roommate?”

San only shrugged. “I’m pretty sure he’s always had a roommate. I’m guessing Yunho just decided to befriend him now.”

Yeosang hummed in understanding, and was about to reopen his laptop when a loud thud sounded across the otherwise quiet library. He flinched.

When he looked up and tried to find the source, his gaze found itself drawn to a figure—a guy, Yeosang saw from observation—with black hair and an olive green bomber jacket, leaning in on a faraway table, having just dropped his books on it. From what Yeosang could see from his vantage point, he was asking the girl on the table something. The girl shook her head. The black haired boy picked up his books and stalked off.

Yeosang couldn’t fight off the sudden annoyance that marred his face, making him frown. He was very well aware of the fact that not all people would ever respect or follow library etiquette, but it particularly bothered him whenever he was in the vicinity of such behaviour. He knew it would mean nothing in the long run worrying about the lack of manners coming from others, but couldn’t help it.

San quietly groaned, thudding his head against the table. “Engineering can go suck ass. Why did we have to pick it as a major? Yeosang, why?” he lamented, propping his head up so that his chin rested on the table. There was a pout on San’s face.

“You can always eat your misery away,” Yeosang answered. “Nothing like a giant plate of fried chicken to alleviate the visceral sensation that is the stress from midterms.”

His mind went to the new stash of ramen he and San had purchased just a few days ago, sitting in their dorm. Yeosang would go back after this and have a cup or two, he decided. Ramen was a good antidepressant.

“We have ramen, don’t we?” asked San.

Yeosang was about to answer, already parting his lips to speak, only to stop when the thud he’d heard from before suddenly came back in full force, except this time it was louder. He flinched again.

His eyes found the source. The black haired boy he only caught a glimpse of before stood there, right next to Yeosang.

“Hi,” said the boy, looking at both Yeosang and San in turn. Up close, Yeosang saw that he had big eyes and smooth, almost shiny skin. “Are you Yeosang and San?”

San nodded enthusiastically, smiling in greeting. Yeosang could only stare.

“Ah,” the boy said, shoving his books so that they were further away from the edge of the table, slotting into the seat next to Yeosang. The latter found himself inconspicuously moving a little farther away from him. “I was wondering where you guys were. Yeonjun didn’t quite respond when I asked him what you guys looked like. I had to ask Yunho…”

The boy continued on about how he’d practically fought tooth and nail to find Yeosang and San, and as much as Yeosang was completely put off by his presence, he found himself incapable of moving. The flow of sentences just kept coming, one after the other in a rapid progression of syllables that eventually dwindled to white noise in Yeosang’s ears.

The most Yeosang could do was just keep listening, all the while thinking, _Where in the fresh fuck is Yunho?_

“That’s weird,” San commented, after the boy paused. “The library in the engineering building isn’t _that_ big…”

Yeosang saw it then: San was a little taken aback by the boy’s presence as well. He saw it in the way his lips were turned down in a subtle frown and how his eyes were watching his every move, almost as if he was scared of him. Yeosang thought it was kind of adorable—albeit, admittedly, nearly everything San did was adorable to Yeosang.

“Oh,” the boy chirped. “I forgot—I’m Wooyoung,” he said, smiling slightly, eyes creasing a little in the corners as he did. “Nice to meet you.”

The realisation put a deeper frown on Yeosang’s face. _This_ was Yeonjun’s roommate.

“I’m San,” San clarified, gesturing to himself first, then pointing to Yeosang. “That’s Yeosang.”

Wooyoung nodded his head as if having completely understood, but judging by the look on his face, Yeosang assumed he was the type of person to forget names. So he didn’t bother trying to drill it further into the guy’s head.

Yunho arrived about five minutes later, sweating and panting as if he’d ran within an inch of his life. He explained, while still panting, that he’d been guilt tripped by San into running to the library for their study session. The latter boy looked utterly appalled, defending himself by sporting a sizable pout and claiming that he did not, in fact, guilt trip Yunho. Yeosang laughed while the two argued, even though it was quite stupid what they were arguing about, but it seemed as though there was someone else who shared his sentiment.

From next to him, when San made a joke about Yunho’s height, an amused Wooyoung let out a bout of howling laughter that sounded startlingly similar to that of a hyena’s. Not only did it startle Yeosang, he realised, but the people around him too, earning him an especially dirty look from a nearby librarian.

Yeosang thought the situation was comical, at best. All he wanted was to study and get all the work finished that he couldn’t get to during the night. But he couldn’t, because a guy with a godforsaken hyena-like laugh and a penchant for disturbing studying students wouldn’t stop laughing.

It was only an hour into their supposed ‘study session’ that Yeosang resorted to his phone as a means of distraction. But then by that time, Yunho and San had concluded that they should go back to their dorms.

Yeosang had never felt a sense of relief as strong as he did then, proven when he hastily gathered up all his belongings, grabbed San’s hand and all but ran towards the exit. Yunho and Wooyoung promptly followed.

But Yeosang’s luck would not last that long, because San needed to borrow a book. While waiting in line, Yunho and Wooyoung walked up to them, slotting into the line without being noticed by the people behind them.

Yeosang cast a single glance at that exit, but felt morally obligated to wait for San, even though he could have easily just made a head start towards the dorms. All Yeosang could do at that moment was wait, purely because he felt like a nice person.

Even when Yeosang thought he couldn’t be any more unlucky, Yunho had fallen into conversation with San. Testing his luck once more, he tried to slot himself in between the conversing pair, but realised it was a useless endeavour at subtlety when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He half-expected a stranger to tell him off for somehow disturbing the people behind him, but was met with the eyes of Wooyoung.

“You’re kinda quiet,” Wooyoung said.

Yeosang furrowed his brows. “Excuse me?”

Wooyoung shrugged. “You’re kinda quiet,” he repeated.

Yeosang stayed silent and stared, waiting for a response for just another moment, any sort of indication that Wooyoung had something else to provide him with, until he realised he wouldn’t get one. Was that all he was going to say? Yeosang hoped so; Wooyoung wasn’t giving him any sort of sign that he actually wanted to start a proper conversation, and Yeosang was terrible at small talk.

Without wasting another second, Yeosang was ready to turn back, only to halt in his position when Wooyoung spoke again.

“Hey, do you not like me?”

That certainly caught Yeosang more off guard than he cared to admit. He turned back to look at Wooyoung once again, confused at how he seemed so nonchalant saying these words. Yeosang felt another pang of annoyance, and it wasn’t just at how neutral Wooyoung’s tone was.

“I won’t give you my opinion unless you actually ask for it,” was all Yeosang could manage through the discomfort he was experiencing.

Wooyoung shrugged. He didn’t seem to notice the flaw in Yeosang’s statement, because he’d technically already asked for his opinion.

He was unusual, being brave enough to say such things to someone he’d met just an hour ago. Yeosang wasn’t sure if he should have been creeped out by him.

“Okay. Do you like me?” Wooyoung repeated.

“No?” Yeosang answered flatly, using that as the opportunity to end the conversation and turn away, still trying to immerse himself into Yunho and San’s conversation.

♤ ♤ ♤

He was in his prairie again. Again, surrounded by the tall grass and sunflowers and mountains he’d simply made up as an escape from reality when it got too much. When Yeosang wasn’t in class imagining it all, it felt more real. Palpable, almost. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them after a moment, he wasn’t still in his prairie. No, he was back in his dorm room, on his bed, and Yunho was squeezing the life out of him in some semblance of a hug.

“Hey,” Yeosang grumbled, blinking away the sleep lingering on his waterline. His voice was thick and came out semi-unintelligible, and he had to clear his throat before he spoke again. “What are you doing?”

Yunho looked up from where his head was initially laying on Yeosang’s chest, and he smiled, cheeks protruding. Yunho poked Yeosang’s nose with his index finger. “You weren’t waking up when I told you to, so I had to resort to this,” he simply explained.

Yeosang grunted, trying to push the heavy boy off of him, to no avail. He kept his head lifted up though, which was when he realised they weren’t alone.

San was showing a person, who was relatively shorter than him, around the small space that was his and Yeosang’s shared dorm. When Yeosang squinted a little, he found out the short person was someone he wouldn’t have suspected at all—Wooyoung.

He caught the black haired boy’s eyes from across the room. Wooyoung simply stared for a moment before focusing back on San.

Yunho shifted on top of Yeosang so that it was nearly physically impossible for Yeosang to manoeuvre his way out of Yunho’s embrace.

“Yunho-yah,” Yeosang whined. “I need to eat.”

Yunho scoffed audibly and hauled himself off Yeosang, quickly ruffling Yeosang’s hair as he did so. Before Yeosang could do more than frown, Yunho had strode over to where San was still showing Wooyoung around.

Even though he had told Yunho he would need to eat, he had not done as good of a job of convincing himself that. Yeosang watched silently from his position on the bed as Yunho talked to San about something. The two exchanged a few conspiratorial looks in the same moment Yeosang had convinced himself to get off the bed and walk over to the little cabinet that had their small stash of instant ramen cups.

After having cooked his noodles in the microwave, Yeosang’s eyes found themselves drawn to one of his newly purchased drones sitting next to the cabinet. He bent down and flicked off a small speck of something solid that had fallen onto one of the propellers. The drone was still snugly sitting in the styrofoam of its box.

Yeosang felt eyes on him, and when he raised his head to check, he found Wooyoung staring right at the drone—except he wasn’t quite staring at _it_. No, his eyes seemed to be a million miles away, staring into an abyss of mental dismemberment, from what it looked to like Yeosang.

“Hey,” Yeosang prompted. When Wooyoung didn’t respond, he tried again. “You good?”

Wooyoung snapped out of it then, eyes meeting with Yeosang’s. He swallowed, and Yeosang noticed that his mouth was turned down into a subtle frown.

“I know this is, like, really weird,” Wooyoung said quickly, “but can I, uh, borrow that?”

Yeosang hoped desperately in the back of his mind he wasn’t talking about the drone. In an effort to try and convince himself so, he lifted the cup of instant ramen in his hand to gesture to it, raising a questioning eyebrow in Wooyoung’s direction.

But Wooyoung only shook his head and pointed to the drone on the ground. He clarified, “No, can I borrow that drone?”

Yeosang’s knee-jerk response was not the usual curt “No” he would give strangers—that was, in technicality, what Wooyoung was to him—but rather a hesitant, “Why?”

“I just, uh, need it for something.”

Yeosang couldn’t help but give him a dirty look. It was one thing to disturb the one study session he had hoped to get things done in with San; it was something completely different to unabashedly ask to borrow his drone for something he had no idea about. Yeosang felt himself frown.

“Something?” he prompted unhelpfully. “I’m sorry but… no?”

Wooyoung shook his head again, and this time he actually looked desperate. “No, please, let me explain—” Wooyoung hunkered down to a squat as he inspected the drone, and Yeosang was suddenly overcome with the urge to push Wooyoung away. It was his most expensive drone he was looking at. The black haired boy only looked up at Yeosang. “I need to spy on someone.”

Yeosang’s resolve was slowly beginning to fade. He gave Wooyoung another look, but this time it was dubious instead of disdainful.

“I’m…” For a brief moment, Yeosang was at a loss for words. “You can spy on someone _without_ a drone…”

Dimly, Yeosang felt a surge of relief run through him when he realised that his skateboard was hidden somewhere in the closet. He had no way of knowing whether the possibility of Wooyoung asking to borrow _that_ was likely or not, but he still wouldn’t know what he would have done if Wooyoung did.

“No, you don’t get it,” Wooyoung stressed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that easy— I—”

Yeosang used his foot to move the drone in its box further away from Wooyoung. “I’m sorry, Wooyoung, but I have no proper reason to say yes to you,” he explained to Wooyoung. Yeosang’s expression hardened, proving it difficult for him to disguise his clear displeasure at Wooyoung’s request. “Unless, of course, you want to explain.”

When Wooyoung stared at Yeosang again, his eyes seemed to have altered so that they looked glassy, even though they were not. Yeosang was struck with the cognition that the younger boy looked strikingly similar to the ginger cat in Shrek doing that face.

“I’m listening,” Yeosang prompted again, grabbing an unopened set of chopsticks atop the cabinet, using them to stir his noodles. “If you want to use my drone, at least give me an explanation as to why.”

Wooyoung sighed. “My ex-girlfriend’s hosting a party and I kinda need your drone to spy on her so that I can see if she rebounded with the guy she told me not to worry about.”

Yeosang could only stare at him. Was he being serious? Truly?

“You’re not serious,” Yeosang said, almost in a shallow pant. The shock from Wooyoung’s so called explanation seemed to have rendered him breathless. “You realise you can do whatever you just said without a drone, right? And, dude, isn’t that kind of an invasion of privacy? You can just crash the party if you’re so desperate—”

“I would,” Wooyoung cut him off, “but it’s not a house party. It’s in, like, a park.”

Yeosang hated how Wooyoung wasn’t getting the point. He hated his casual, indifferent tone of voice even more. “You can still do all that without a drone.”

“Please?” Wooyoung genuinely seemed stressed now, raking his fingers through his hair again, except this time it was a lot more frantic. It was hard for Yeosang to decide if this was just a front for getting his way. “I just… need this one thing. And then I’ll leave you alone? All right?”

Shit. _That_. Wooyoung knew Yeosang didn’t like him, and now he was using it to his advantage. Suddenly Yeosang felt annoyed, more than he cared to admit.

Yeosang stayed silent. Behind him, Yunho and San were still speaking quietly to each other, completely oblivious to Yeosang and Wooyoung’s minor dispute.

After a moment, he gathered his thoughts, then articulated them and said, “If you’re gonna spy on this ex-girlfriend, I need to at least come with you.”

Wooyoung looked like he was about to protest for a split second, but simply asked, “Wait, why?”

Only a little bit of Yeosang’s composure was left at this point. It was kind of concerning how Wooyoung didn’t see any of the logistics of this entire situation, especially when Yeosang was pointing it all out to him. “It’s my most expensive drone,” he explained, motioning towards it on the ground. “Logistically, I’m meant to monitor you, because it’s not your property. And also to make sure you’re not doing any creepy shit. Plus, for all I know, you’ve never seen a drone in your life.”

“I haven’t.”

Yeosang’s hand twitched. He wanted to hit something. “All the more reason for me to come with you,” he commented stiffly, stuffing his face with the noodles quickly, lest it got cold. “When’s this party?”

“Today,” Wooyoung answered.

Yeosang almost choked. “Today?” He quickly swallowed whatever morsel of food was still in his mouth, wincing at how it slightly burned his throat. “I have to accompany you to spy on your ex-girlfriend _today_?”

The other boy only shrugged. “According to her social media platforms, the party starts at 2.”

“Wait, hold up. Shit, okay…”

Yeosang spared a quick glance at the digital clock on his and San’s shared night stand. It was nearly one o’clock. He sighed.

“Okay, just… let me finish my ramen, yeah?”

Wooyoung looked positively happy, a complete contrast from how stressed he’d looked begging Yeosang for the drone just seconds ago. “Okay,” he chirped, standing up.

Yeosang noticed it then; while Wooyoung was definitely shorter than San, he was also shorter than Yeosang as well. Not by a lot, but the difference was still there.

“Okay,” Yeosang said through the tremor in his voice. He didn’t want to do this at all. All he wanted to do today was relax and maybe even catch up on a few workout routines he’d missed in favour of studying for a few other university projects.

But he would have to go out with Wooyoung today and figure out what the hell he really needed his drone for. He shrugged on a sweater rather aggressively as Wooyoung waited by the door, and had to remind himself that this was the only way he would leave him alone.

♤ ♤ ♤

The train ride to the park the party was being held at was tense, to say the least.

At first, it was because Yeosang had tried his best to get past the guards at the station that monitored everyone going past the ticket doors. Luckily, he and Wooyoung had gone through a door that wasn’t near any one of the controllers, but since the scanner on the doors made Yeosang’s subway card—predictably—keep on declining, he had to quickly pass through with Wooyoung if he wanted to go any further from there, clumsily bumping into his back as he did so.

That, of course, drew out a rather confused look from Wooyoung, but Yeosang somehow did a good job of dismissing the matter, because Wooyoung didn’t bring it up again.

Then, it was the drone. Yeosang hadn’t known how else he would be able to transport the drone with them, so he was left with the option to just manually carry it along with them, since all the protective cases he owned wasn’t big enough for it. It had attracted the attention of a few other people who frequented the subway, but Yeosang had long ago learned to desensitise himself from whatever opinion a stranger on a train may have of him. By the time they had reached their stop, Yeosang finally broke the silence between him and Wooyoung by saying, “I think you should know that this is my most expensive drone.”

“You already told me that.”

“Just making sure.”

Wooyoung glanced at him, and he frowned. “You couldn’t have gotten a less valuable drone?” he asked.

“All my drones are around the same price,” Yeosang explained. Instinctively, his arms drew closer around the drone. “This one just happens to cost 50,000 won more.”

That didn’t do anything to alleviate the stress on Wooyoung’s shoulders, it seemed, because the black haired boy only looked more pressured, face contorting into uneasiness. Yeosang had to school his features to make it seem like he wasn’t so helplessly about to laugh.

The park the party was being hosted in was large, but it wasn’t anything unfamiliar. Yeosang vaguely recalled how he and San and a few others had come here quite often when they were freshmen. But he hadn’t been here in a while, which had him looking around the area to try and remember where everything was situated. In the midst of that, he found himself being distracted by every obscure detail that managed to fall into his line of sight, like the line of food kiosks situated on the side of the park.

“That’s where she is,” Wooyoung said and pointed somewhere in front of them, snapping Yeosang out of his little trance. When Yeosang squinted his eyes a little, he could see a small gathering of people dispersed near a set of benches and tables. There were helium balloons tied around rocks to keep them in place scattered all around them, as well as a designated area for presents.

Yeosang thought it was a little peculiar, hosting a birthday party in a public park, of all places. But the most extravagant of a birthday party he’d had was when he was ten, when his parents had rented out a whole theatre that hosted a total of about 40 people only. He wasn’t about to judge.

He tried to find anyone who looked like they could be the birthday girl, but he was saved the struggle of searching when Wooyoung said, “Girl in the hot pink jumpsuit.”

“What’s her name?”

“Minhee. Nam Minhee.”

Looking at the amount of people that were present, and then realising that they were in a very public space, made Yeosang feel a little overwhelmed with dread. The drone suddenly felt heavier in his hands.

“You realise that you really don’t need the drone, don’t you?” he tried in an attempt to discourage Wooyoung.

“Oh, but I do,” Wooyoung said, unconvinced. He wasn’t really looking at Yeosang, rather at the group of partying people. He didn’t bother to elaborate.

Yeosang shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “But we don’t have to use it now, do we?”

To Yeosang’s absolute happiness, Wooyoung said, “No, we don’t.”

So the pair merely sat down at a vacant bench, waiting. Yeosang tried to occupy himself by checking if his drone was still intact despite safe the journey, but when he realised that distraction didn’t work, he resorted to checking his phone for the time every five minutes. That was, until, Wooyoung spotted Minhee leaving the party with another guy.

Wooyoung grabbed Yeosang’s hand and not-so-subtly pointed towards where they were heading. Before Yeosang could do any more than at least gather his composure, he was dragged by Wooyoung towards a footpath that led them to a quieter part of the park. Yeosang had to hold on tighter to his drone as they practically ran, fearful that he’d drop it.

He couldn’t for the life of him figure out why they were going at the speed they were at now, but then suddenly they weren’t running anymore, and Yeosang nearly fell onto his knees from the force of Wooyoung holding him back from running any further. He was breathless and a little disoriented, but somehow still managed to notice that Wooyoung was still touching him, a hand wrapped around his wrist.

“Can we activate it now?” Wooyoung asked.

Yeosang gulped. “What?” he said.

“Can we activate that now?” Wooyoung repeated, a little impatiently.

Yeosang was perhaps a little too focused on Wooyoung’s hand on him, because it took him a good half a minute to tug his wrist out of Wooyoung’s grip and turn on the drone. He carefully laid the drone on the ground and pulled the remote control out of his pocket. The propellers started turning in the same moment that Wooyoung’s eyes lit up with something akin to excitement.

Yeosang pressed the few buttons he needed to make the drone levitate so that it leveled with Wooyoung’s eyes. Wooyoung watched in complete and utter awe as the drone just stayed there, suspended atop the grass.

“That’s _so_ cool,” Wooyoung breathed, seemingly starstruck.

Yeosang hummed in agreement before steering the drone so that it hovered higher above them. “Let’s go,” he told Wooyoung quietly, walking towards where Minhee and the other guy had gone, guiding the drone so that it followed the two of them.

The walk to wherever Minhee and the other guy went was not long, but it was certainly enough for Wooyoung to constantly look up to the drone from where it hung in the air. But as annoyed as Yeosang was for being dragged out here for a rather pointless reason, admittedly, Wooyoung being engrossed by the drone was kind of fascinating. Though, of course, he figured that would be mainly because he knew Wooyoung had never seen a drone in his life before this.

They made it to a hilly little area that had a small stream running down the large expanse of grass in front of them, with small groups of trees dispersed here and there along the sides of the stream. The two of them ended up finding Minhee and the guy seated on the grassy bank near the stream. Yeosang made it a point for Wooyoung not to venture too close to the pair when the latter tried to walk closer to them, tugging on his shoulders with a quelling look. He made them stand behind a small group of bushes, lest they got caught.

The drone was still suspended in the air, and while it wasn’t loud, it wasn’t entirely quiet either. If Minhee and the other guy noticed, then they didn’t care.

“Do you know that guy?” Yeosang mumbled. There was no way that Minhee could possibly hear them, what with the distance between the two, but he still felt obligated to keep his voice low.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung murmured in a snarl, looking ready to actually attack the guy. He glanced at Yeosang, then the remote in his hands. “Can I use that?”

Yeosang felt a sense of protectiveness, then. He clutched the remote control harder. “What for?”

“I just wanna try.”

“You—you’ve never seen a drone in your life until today!” Yeosang whispered, unable to disguise the hostility in his tone. “What evidence do you have that I should just—just _give it over to you_?”

“Please?” Wooyoung pleaded, doing _those_ eyes again. If it weren’t for the fact that Wooyoung was conventionally attractive, Yeosang would have probably gagged.

It took Yeosang a solid moment of prolonged contemplation before he reluctantly handed over the remote control to Wooyoung. The latter took it with a lot more enthusiasm that Yeosang thought was necessary, and he had to withstand the urge snatch it back as Wooyoung risked a glance upwards towards the drone, and then back to the monitor that was on the remote.

Contrary to his words, Wooyoung didn’t actually do anything with the drone. Just held the remote control in his hands. Glanced at the monitor where they could see Minhee and the guy’s figures a couple of times as well, but that was about it.

It was after another moment or so that Minhee and the guy she was with shifted their position. They stood up and walked further away from Wooyoung and Yeosang; further down the stream and higher up the hill they had been next to.

Yeosang held out a hand to stop Wooyoung from moving any closer, telling him quietly that they would have to wait a bit before the coast was clear. Once they were sure that Minhee and the guy wouldn’t be coming back to their previous spot, Yeosang guided Wooyoung so that they were standing in front of the bushes, in the small clearing next to the stream.

“Can I, like, make it move and stuff?” Wooyoung asked haltingly, gesturing towards the drone and then the remote.

A sigh escaped Yeosang. He couldn’t fight off the dread that came with watching Wooyoung just hold the remote control in his hands, but he wasn’t about to admit that now, not when he was already holding the damn thing.

So he nodded. Wooyoung was ecstatic.

Yeosang could only stare with his arms crossed at Wooyoung’s fingers as they swiftly went over the certain buttons to manoeuvre it to his liking. Through this, Yeosang realised now that, while his drone was expensive, it was supposedly not that hard for a complete novice like Wooyoung to utilise. As all the hairs at the back of Yeosang’s head were standing on edge, he had to admit it to himself—for someone who, quite literally, had no experience in handling drones, Wooyoung was doing a relatively okay job at not being caught by their subjects.

The cognition struck Yeosang about 30 seconds later.

Wasn’t this illegal?

Yeosang hesitated a little before clearing his throat. “Hey—”

“Oh, my God.” Wooyoung clamped a hand over his mouth in something akin to horror as he eyed the monitor on the remote. “Oh, my God. What the _hell_.”

But Yeosang wasn’t done speaking. “Hey, isn’t this against—”

He heard a thud beneath him, looking down to see that Wooyoung had dropped the remote control, shock rendering him still.

Then the drone above Minhee’s head had lost its composure it seemed, suddenly zooming around midair in zig zags and circles, almost as though being chased by something.

Yeosang’s stomach dropped. He only had a few seconds to pick the remote back up quickly, muttering frantic _no no no_ ’s as he ran towards the direction of the drone and tried desperately to redirect it back to them. He pressed every button he thought would work. Then he pressed every single button.

But it just wouldn’t stop _moving_.

“No, wait, give it to me—”

Wooyoung’s hands were on the remote now, and Yeosang could only snatch it away from him as he turned, eyes searching for wherever the hell his drone was.

It was painful to experience. Of all things he thought he would lose by the end of the year, his most valuable drone was _not_ one of them.

“There! There, there, there!” Wooyoung exclaimed, frantically pointing somewhere behind Yeosang. He whipped around to where Wooyoung was gesturing, finding his drone hovering somewhere near the branch of a taller tree. Yeosang’s heart picked up its pace.

His finger went to the one button he suspected would get it to come to them. If he could just—

“Yeosang, wait, I think I know what to do—”

Suddenly the remote control was snatched out of Yeosang’s hands, and he just barely registered that Wooyoung now had it. Yeosang would have grabbed it back, had he not been completely pralazyed as his heart twisted in panic, thinking, _Fuck, I payed so much for this…_

Wooyoung fiddled with it as though it were a toy, and when he finally got the drone moving, he shoved it back into Yeosang’s hands.

Yeosang, however, had completely zoned out by this point, eyes on the grass in front of him. He only regained his sense of reality when he heard a loud splash of water.

His head turned. _Fuck_.

There were fast ripples pulsating through the water coming from where his drone had landed. It wasn’t all that far away from them, having landed in a part of the stream shallow enough that parts of the frame stuck out from the surface of the water.

Yeosang’s breath caught in his throat. The remote dropped from his hands. He felt like he might as well throw up.

Wooyoung was at the front of his sightline then, promptly walking towards the water as he took his shoes and socks off and rolled up the ends of his pants.

Yeosang could only watch in astonishment.

“What the hell are you _doing_?” Yeosang demanded.

“Getting your drone?” Wooyoung stated in a way brooked no argument, even though it sounded more like a question. There were no nearby rocks for him to step on, so he was obligated to simply walk through the water.

It took Yeosang until the water was halfway up Wooyoung’s calf to snap out of it. 

“Hey, what the hell!” He stomped over to the edge of the bank, the tips of his shoes not quite touching the water, but not that far from it, either. “There’s no point in getting it now, you—you know it’s gone!”

Yeosang didn’t know what he was saying—he felt like he was honestly babbling, almost. In truth, he wanted to trudge into that water as much as Wooyoung probably did, because that was his most expensive and valuable drone and it was gone. Just... gone.

Wooyoung didn’t dignify Yeosang with a response, instead using two fingers to pinch one of the propellers in an attempt to lift it up. Yeosang winced just looking at him doing it.

But thankfully, Wooyoung seemed to have noticed Yeosang’s obvious disgust. He switched hands then, using at least three fingers this time to tightly grip a thicker part of the frame, giving himself an easier way to pick it up.

It was a long and awkward minute as Wooyoung traipsed through the murky water as he held the drone precariously with his fingers, the slight splashes of water against Wooyoung’s calves and the half-submerged rocks causing disruption in the otherwise quiet park. After Wooyoung was out of the water, he carefully put the dripping drone on the grass in front of Yeosang. Like a child begrudgingly admitting to breaking a vase by showing the remnants of it to their parents.

Yeosang crossed his arms. He really could have puked.

“I’m so sorry,” Wooyoung said, then began to put on his socks and shoes. There were fearful undertones in his voice, and overall demeanour.

Yeosang said nothing in response. Just stared at his drone, face as impassive as it always was.

“I’m really sorry, Yeosang,” Wooyoung apologised again, and this time Yeosang’s head snapped up to look at Wooyoung in the eyes. The latter flinched in response, truly looking terrified then, almost taking a step back as Yeosang helplessly shot him a glare.

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” was all that came out of Yeosang’s mouth. He huffed sardonically, lightly nudging the drone with his foot. Alongside the obvious internal damage, the exterior frame had bits and pieces that seemed to be either broken or missing. The propellers had long since stopped working, but Yeosang still prodded to make sure that it was truly broken.

And then suddenly Wooyoung was on his knees, eyes desperate as they gazed up at Yeosang. “Really! I’m _so_ so so sorry, Yeosang, I—” If Wooyoung cutting himself off and agitatedly rubbing his hands over his face were any indication, this situation clearly wasn’t favourable to him, either. “Hey, how much did this cost? I can buy you a new one? Unless you just want the money…”

Yeosang blinked, hardly resisting the breathy, sarcastic chuckle that came out of his mouth. He doubted that Wooyoung would actually pay him back, regardless of the price, but he answered anyway. 

“800,000 won.”

Wooyoung blanched, positively shocked.

Minhee’s mission was long forgotten at this point.

“Forget it, Wooyoung,” Yeosang snapped before Wooyoung could properly answer, picking up the remote control and drone. He stood up once he had gathered all the broken bits and pieces, giving Wooyoung a hard glare. “I don’t care.”

A lie. Yeosang did care. He was angry, because he hadn’t even properly gotten to use this drone and here it was, broken all because a guy he had hardly know for about a week needed to use it to spy on his fucking ex-girlfriend. He was angry, because approximately seven months of saving up to get this specific drone had simply gone to waste. Absolute waste. The thought even brought a bitter taste to Yeosang’s mouth.

If it had been Jongho or Yunho or Mingi (or maybe even Seonghwa and Hongjoong, though he knew they were smart enough to not go anywhere near his tech) rather than Wooyoung, he probably would have been a little less harsh. San was out of the question; simply put, he valued this drone just as much as he did. But since it was a guy who had only walked into his life about a week ago—practically a stranger—Yeosang didn’t have much reason not to feel as angry as he does now.

“No, seriously,” Wooyoung said, grabbing Yeosang by the bicep. Yeosang snatched his arm back as he shot Wooyoung a dirty look. “I can—I can pay for your food? O-or maybe…”

Yeosang waited for Wooyoung to finish his sentence, but just studied him in their tense silence. Looking at him then, Yeosang would have probably laughed if it weren’t for the fact that he’d basically lost one of the only things valuable he owned, because Wooyoung genuinely looked frightened within an inch of his life.

When Wooyoung didn’t provide him with a complete response, Yeosang rolled his eyes, continuing to walk back to the main part of the park where most of the people were. He heard Wooyoung silently walk behind him, but paid him no real attention, at least not until they reached the edge of the park lined with various food kiosks.

“I… Yeosang, I’m really sorry,” Wooyoung apologised for the umpteenth time. Yeosang hazarded a glance over his shoulder at him—for the most part, he looked genuinely sorry, but it was hard to tell. Yeosang hadn’t known Wooyoung for as long as he knew the others, so it was difficult trying to decipher what he was actually feeling, purely because he wasn’t used to him. “Just. Just… please.”

The drone in his hands made him feel like he was carrying a small boulder, suddenly. Yeosang looked warily at Wooyoung. Maybe he wasn’t even being genuine. Perhaps he was just reiterating his apologies to look like it.

Much like how he was struck with the cognition of their Minhee mission being illegal, Yeosang thought of something else at that very moment.

“Actually… there is something you can do for me.”

Wooyoung stilled then, almost as if he didn’t think Yeosang would actually take up his offer. “Okay, uh… Go on,” he prompted.

“My public transport card has expired,” Yeosang explained. Wooyoung’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t seem to know where this was going. “And I normally top up my fare card on a weekly basis.”

Wooyoung’s brows creased. He was still confused.

Yeosang sighed. “I top up my fare card every week, sometimes fortnight. But I’ve been low on cash to pay for it, and I’ve been reserving some money for the project I have with San. I just need you to pay my weekly fares.”

Wooyoung blinked, then began to shift glances around the park. Yeosang took it that he was embarrassed.

“And, uh… How long do I have to pay your weekly fares?” Wooyoung asked tentatively.

Yeosang thought about the drone. Then he thought about the stressful times when his subway card would always be declined and he had to inconspicuously slide through the station doors behind someone else, lest he got caught by a guard, fearing that he’d be late to whatever lecture or class he had. Fare evasion didn’t sit right with Yeosang, but he had to do it, and he had been doing it for a while now. It didn’t help that he regularly frequented Seoul’s public transport, either.

“Until the end of the semester,” he answered.

It looked like Wooyoung would throw up any second. Once again, Yeosang had to train his features to look like he wasn’t about to laugh.

Although, to put it into perspective, he _had_ broken his ₩800,000 drone. And to be fair, Wooyoung _did_ ask how he wanted to repay him—practically shoved the offer in his face, if anything—and Yeosang simply answered.

“I…” Wooyoung hesitated. “Okay.” He rubbed both hands over his face, and to Yeosang, he almost looked as though he regretted agreeing to Yeosang’s request. “Yeah, okay. I’ll… I’ll buy you a new subway card. And I’ll pay your weekly fare. Just—yeah. Okay.”

Wooyoung saying those words lightened the weight on Yeosang’s chest by just a bit. At least _that_ was out of the way.

Only when the pair had gotten on the subway back to the dorms did Yeosang get curious.

“What did you see?” he asked Wooyoung.

Wooyoung looked up from his phone, where he was sitting next to Yeosang on the seats. “See what?”

Yeosang motioned to the drone in his hands with a nod of his head. Him carrying the drone had drawn looks of suspicion from passers-by and other subway commuters once again, but he didn’t really care. As much as he hated to come to terms with it, the thing was broken now, and it wasn’t like he would do anything with it, anyway. “On the monitor.” His voice dropped down a level when he added, “When you were spying on Minhee and the guy.”

“Oh,” Wooyoung said. He shut off his phone. “She was, like, making out with the guy she was with.”

Okay, Yeosang thought. That was pretty bad, but if he were in Wooyoung’s shoes, it wouldn’t have been too much of a big deal.

“Oh, but—” Wooyoung chuckled then, almost sarcastically. It sounded weird to Yeosang; the only other laugh he had heard coming from him was that hyena-like laugh he’d heard in their first meeting, so hearing something so middle-ranged and not loud was somewhat unsettling. “It was the guy she told me not to worry about.”

“Okay—”

“Who also happens to be her cousin.”

That threw Yeosang off completely. He opened and closed his mouth, wanting to say something, but only laughed at the end, warranting the attention of a few people around them. But neither Yeosang nor Wooyoung seemed to care, because Wooyoung accompanied him with an even louder laugh. If Yeosang wasn’t still completely annoyed at the fact that his drone was broken, he might have sympathised with Wooyoung when he’d dropped that remote control. Might have.


	2. lighting strikes twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was his own mind, after all. A place no one else could infiltrate.

The next day found Mingi pitching a potato chip over to Yunho in their dorm. It landed horribly wrong, falling into the trash can instead. Yeosang watched it happen, laughed.

“Mingi-yah,” Yunho called from where he stood in front of the one mirror in his and Mingi’s shared bathroom, trying to fix his bed head. “I keep on telling you—there’s no point in throwing me those chips if all you’re gonna do is fail…”

Mingi only whined, continuing to eat the chips, getting more comfortable where he laid down on the bed, Yeosang’s head on his tummy. “Let me live… the least I can do is try, right?” he lamented.

Yeosang had only come to pick something up from Yunho in his dorm, but had found himself stuck here when Mingi had wooed him to stay with some takeaway fried chicken. This type of thing occurred quite a bit, so it didn’t surprise Yeosang as much as it did the first time.

“Oh, _God_ , I look like Medusa and a suburban dad from the eighties had a baby,” he heard Yunho mumble. “Oh, but I kinda love it…”

But even if these random visits to each others’ dorms didn’t surprise him, they sure as hell put him on edge when he had a train to catch. Yeosang, Mingi and Yunho had booked a karaoke session for today, which had been a plan of Yeosang’s from since about a month ago. On numerous occasions, they would go over what they would do for the day long before it had even come. If asked to, Yeosang could recite the schedule for the day off by heart.

But now that the day was finally here, all thoughts about what they had planned for was replaced by the stress Yeosang felt as time ticked by, each second a step closer to them possibly missing their train. “Yunho-yah, come on,” he whined. “We’re gonna miss our train.”

Yunho emerged from the bathroom looking the same as he had gone in. His bed head was still prominent. None of them cared to comment.

♤ ♤ ♤

Yeosang was sandwiched between Yunho and Mingi where they were squished together amongst the loud and stuffy group of people at the station. Yunho and Mingi had tactically held both of Yeosang’s hands, lest he got lost in the crowd, even though they didn’t need to. It was rainy, but it was hot. Yeosang felt sticky.

Once they’d pushed past the majority of the crowd to find themselves near the ticket doors, Yunho and Mingi let go of Yeosang’s hands. The three of them all reached into their respective pockets for their subway cards, but when Yeosang came up short of one, his stomach dropped.

He silently cursed himself in his head because _goddammit_ , he knew he could’ve at least pretended that his expired card had just been short on money and that he could’ve simply asked one of the guards to let him through this one time. He knew, and yet he didn’t.

He wanted to reach into his pocket to find some small cash, but stopped short. He didn’t have enough money to pay for a single trip ticket because he was reserving whatever little amount of money on him for other things, but he knew even that would happen.

Yeosang felt a hard push on his back and realised, rather belatedly, that he’d been holding up a line behind him. He hazarded a quick glance at the irate woman behind him and bowed profusely in apology before moving away to the side so that the other train commuters could pass through.

His cheeks burned. The fact that he didn’t have his subway card was kind of embarrassing, if anything.

Yunho and Mingi looked over to Yeosang where they stood on the other side of the ticket doors, concern painting their faces as they ignored the other people pushing past them. Yeosang couldn’t find it in himself to look directly at them. It wasn’t even that big of a deal, and yet he still ended up embarrassed to acknowledge it, whatever their concern was.

Before Yeosang could build up the courage to ask one of them to perhaps let him through, even though he didn’t have any reason to, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

His stomach dropped once more. He expected a guard of some sort to ask why he was standing so awkwardly to the side, or maybe even another angry train commuter, but when Yeosang saw a pretty face and black hair, he was slightly taken aback.

Yeosang hadn’t even managed a simple ‘ _What the hell are you doing here_?’ before Wooyoung promptly grabbed his hand and shoved something rather flimsy into his palm.

By the time Wooyoung had taken his own card and used it to pass through the ticket door, Yeosang had only blinked. A brand new transport card was staring right back at him, somewhat glinting even under the dingy, nondescript lights of the station.

He looked up and stared at Wooyoung, who was now on the other side of the doors, conversing with Mingi and Yunho. What the fuck.

Yunho caught his eyes. “What are you waiting for?” he called, just barely audible over the loudness of the other people around them.

Yeosang took a second to snap out of it, pressing the card to the scanner. It was hard to contain the surprise that shot through him when it flashed green, his eyes widening as the doors opened automatically. 

Fumbling in his shock, Yeosang just managed to cross the doors before they closed on him. Mingi and Yunho were staring at him, bemused.

Yeosang didn’t wait for them to question him—didn’t want them to—instead dragging the two taller boys towards their platform, muttering a quick, “Let’s go,” and then risking a glance at Wooyoung, who looked almost as in shock as he did. Probably not for the same reasons.

By the time they’d reached the platform, Yeosang felt a little out of breath. Yunho and Mingi still looked a little confused. He couldn’t believe this was even happening.

Yeosang pulled the new subway card out of his pocket, inspecting. It was one of the newer cards, designed to look nicer, except Yeosang thought it was ugly. It was too modern and yet too outdated at the same time, with oddly bright colours that went into the wrong areas and fonts that could easily be changed to make it look better. Maybe Hongjoong could paint something on it for him—make it a little less unpleasant to look at.

“What was that?” Yunho asked, a little belatedly. “Did Wooyoung just…?”

Yeosang thought faking confusion would be helpful, even though he wasn’t quite sure it would even work, so he shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno,” he said helplessly. “He’s just—”

And then, to his absolute chagrin, Wooyoung strode over to them from the escalators.

When Wooyoung opened his mouth to speak, Yeosang shot him a quelling look, making the former curl back in embarrassment. Yeosang nodded his head once. Wooyoung poked his tongue out.

Yeosang watched the way Wooyoung moved past him and stood next to Yunho, a sullen look on his face. He had to suppress the urge to laugh. At Wooyoung or his sudden bad luck, he had no clue.

“Hey, have you guys noticed?” Mingi piped after they’d gotten in a proper little huddle, seemingly unaware of the tension between Yeosang and Wooyoung. “I walk _so_ aggressively. The kid behind me near those ticket doors nearly fainted I swear to God…”

Wooyoung laughed, and it was normal. Not derisive or mocking in any way, just middle-ranged and leveled with his voice enough to sound genuine. Yeosang found it strange—expecting a hyena-like laugh or a sarcastic one, and only getting a normal one. Normal, like that was even an option.

“I think it’s kind of a problem,” Mingi went on, inspecting his feet, making Yeosang realise he had been overthinking.

“Yeah, but you never tie your shoelaces,” Yunho said, hunkering down to the ground and squatting near Mingi’s feet. “I think that’s the bigger problem.”

“It’s not my problem that I can’t tie my shoelaces,” Mingi said with a pout.

Wooyoung balked. “You don’t know how to tie your shoelaces?” he said.

“I do!” Mingi defended, still pouting. “But I just can’t be bothered, y’know? And I never trip. Even ever since I was born, I’ve _never_ tripped.”

Yeosang snaked a foot behind Mingi and kicked the side of his feet. Mingi stumbled, but ended up using Yunho, still bobbed down, to break his fall. Yeosang snickered.

“That was _not_ tripping! You just kicked me!” Mingi tried to justify himself, only to no avail when Yunho and Wooyoung burst out laughing as well. “Hey!”

Yeosang had just enough time to register Wooyoung’s eyes on him before Mingi gathered him into a headlock and squeezed where he had him trapped.

He knew Mingi wouldn’t actually hurt him, so relaxed himself so that he was relatively limp against him. As per his prediction, Mingi only ruffled his hair before he let him go, only to loop an arm around his shoulders.

“Where are you guys even going?” Wooyoung asked then, looking at Yunho, who stood back up, having finished tying Mingi’s shoelaces.

“We reserved a spot at a karaoke bar,” Yunho explained with ease. “You wanna come?”

Yeosang felt himself still against Mingi. Yunho wasn’t being serious, was he? They had been planning this so thoroughly, and had made sure that they wouldn’t invite anyone that they didn’t particularly want to hang out with (as per Yeosang’s preference), so why the hell was Yunho asking Wooyoung to tag along?

“Yeah, why not?” Wooyoung ran a hand through his hair coolly, and even when Yeosang thought he couldn’t dislike him more, he was proven wrong in that very moment. “I was gonna go back to the dorms, but I have nothing else to do. I’ll only come if you guys want, though.”

It was only obvious to Yeosang once Wooyoung had spoken. Neither Yunho nor Mingi knew of Yeosang’s dislike for Wooyoung, and had naturally assumed that they were aquaintances if they’d seen Wooyoung give Yeosang a subway card. Yeosang wanted to be annoyed at it, but knew he couldn’t.

Wooyoung and Yunho both looked over at Mingi and Yeosang, then. Yeosang felt like curling up right behind Mingi, but stood his ground. Mingi nodded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically for Yeosang’s liking.

Everything felt unreal, like he was in a simulation of some sort. A fuzzy feeling invaded his head, almost like static. He heard the distant whirring of motors running. Their train was coming.

Yeosang forced a smarmy smile. “I don’t mind,” he said.

He would kill Yunho later. He would bash him to death with a pillow once they got back to their dorms and laugh at his misery but for now, he would have to smile at his own.

♤ ♤ ♤

Yeosang had hoped in the back of his head throughout the whole train ride and on the walk to the karaoke bar that adding Wooyoung to their reservation wouldn’t be permissible. A little mean of a thing to wish for, admittedly, but it wasn’t as though he could help it.

Wooyoung had given him no reason to particularly like him. He’d disturbed them in the library upon their first meeting and had broken his drone. Yeosang wasn’t one to come to complete conclusions on people based on first impressions, but whenever Wooyoung had apologised to him in their last meeting, the apologies sounded more disingenuous than they did not. If Yeosang was told to consider all aspects, the only reason he’d probably like Wooyoung was because he had a pretty face and was his type for the most part, but that was besides the point.

Whatever the situation, Yeosang didn’t have any reason to like Wooyoung. So it felt a little less mean to wish for him to go away than it should have been.

Yeosang was disappointed, but not surprised, to find out that the karaoke bar allowed them to add Wooyoung’s ticket to their reservation.

Yunho and Mingi were happy. Yeosang wasn’t, but that didn’t stop him from pretending to be. If Wooyoung noticed, then he gave no indication.

The booth they had reserved was quaint, the edges of the room where the walls and the ceiling met lined with LED lights that glowed various hues every couple of seconds. The karaoke machine was small and dainty for the most part, and although it looked hard to navigate at first glance, Yeosang had been here enough times to know that it was not.

“I’ve been here before,” Wooyoung commented absently upon entering. Yeosang just barely heard him.

Yeosang and Mingi sat down on the small bench beside the karaoke machine while Wooyoung stood to the side, Yunho twirling the mic in his hand as he touched various buttons on the machine to activate it. Yunho turned to the three. “Who wants to go first?” he asked.

Yeosang certainly didn’t. But Wooyoung did, proudly saying, “Me!” before crossing the small distance to the karaoke machine. Yunho handed him the mic.

“What song?” Mingi asked, but before Wooyoung could even think of answering, the former continued. “Also, don’t bother doing that thing where you sing horribly for the whole song. That’s _my_ job.”

Yeosang had no idea if Mingi and Wooyoung had already met and become acquaintances before, but the friendly smile and laugh Wooyoung sent Mingi seemed to suggest so. There was a minute roil of annoyance in his gut. He didn’t know where it came from.

“Yeah? And what makes you think I’ll actually listen to you?” Wooyoung challenged. There was a glint in his eyes that hinted at mischief.

Yeosang wanted to scoff. Hadn’t he seen this all before?

Wooyoung picked a song that all of them knew and were quite familiar with, familiar enough that Yeosang knew all the correct notes Wooyoung was to hit. It was mellow and calm. The sort of music you’d listen to looking out onto pretty scenery.

Yeosang didn’t know what he expected once Wooyoung started to sing, but the last thing he expected was for him to actually be _good_.

In fact, he was quite mesmerised, to put it lightly. And so were Mingi and Yunho, who both praised him with long, drawn out sounds of admiration (most being along the lines of ‘wow’) as he sang. It seemed like no one in the booth knew Wooyoung was a good singer except for Wooyoung himself.

It was hard to tell what Wooyoung’s singing voice actually sounded like, given that the mic they were using was rather echoey and, obviously, not all that top quality. But it sounded good from where it came from. Nice and velvety. The kind of voice Yeosang would have probably liked to listen to before he fell asleep.

When Wooyoung was finished, he flashed a proud smile at the boys around him. Yunho and Mingi cheered loudly and clapped, hollering when the score flashed a vivid 90.

Yeosang was obligated to clap, but he knew in the back of his mind that, even though he didn’t quite like the guy, some of the praise he was giving him was genuine.

Mingi was next. True to his words, he did half-ass the song, picking a song that was too sappy and romantic for its own good for the sole purpose of making it sound more sappy and romantic. Yeosang and Yunho had too much fun watching him make a fool of himself, and even though some part of his mind didn’t want to acknowledge it, he found himself paying attention to Wooyoung when he realised Wooyoung seemed to find the same kind of enjoyment he did.

Yeosang wondered halfway through Yunho’s turn when this whole ordeal wouldn’t be so awkward for him. He knew for a fact that, had Wooyoung not been here, he would be a lot more social and interactive, possibly even throwing in a few playful insults at Mingi and Yunho when he felt like it. The only reason he wasn’t doing any of those things was because Wooyoung was here.

He straightened up. He wouldn’t be all sulky just because the guy that broke his drone was here with him—that seemed way too immature than was necessary. He wouldn’t be sulky, at least not for Yunho and Mingi.

When Yunho had paused singing for the guitar solo to play, Yeosang piped in, “I’ll go next. Mingi, you can join me.”

Mingi looked exceedingly happy at that.

When Yeosang and Mingi did end up next, they picked the most upbeat song in the playlist that the karaoke machine provided. They belted out the lyrics while dancing the choreography of the said song, not quite caring about the score they would eventually get. Yunho and Wooyoung looked pleased throughout it.

They ended up getting a score of 76, which wasn’t bad to Yeosang, considering it was above half; however, Mingi took it a bit personally, but not for long, because Wooyoung went next. He chose a more upbeat and bass heavy song this time, one that Yeosang knew also had a designated choreography.

Yeosang half-expected him to only sing and pop in a few moves, but what didn’t cross his mind at all was for Wooyoung to actually know the choreography. And to dance it well. All the people in the karaoke booth had a penchant for dancing, it seemed. Yunho and Mingi both attended an extracurricular dance program. Yeosang was quite familiar with dancing and the concepts intertwined with it because he’d taken classes as a kid, but also because he often found himself subconsciously learning the choreographies of new songs released by artists he liked.

His best guess was that Wooyoung was either self-taught, or he’d taken lessons, but he wasn’t about to dwell on the subject.

Their outing went on for a while until they realised their designated time had expired. Yunho seemingly had a problem with that, so he bargained with the lady at the counter, and they received a grand total of ten minutes more. Yeosang didn’t mind whatever Yunho or Mingi wanted, so he stayed with them without complaining.

Yunho, Mingi and Wooyoung took over the karaoke machine more than Yeosang did. Yunho had tried to encourage Yeosang to join, only for Yeosang to decline. He would let the people who were more enthusiastic about this do whatever they needed to do. He didn’t quite care.

While Mingi and Yunho tried to choose their next duet song, Wooyoung sat down next to Yeosang on the small bench. If Yeosang wanted to move away, he couldn’t. There simply wasn’t enough space.

“I’m sorry for getting you the ugly card,” Wooyoung said in a murmur. “Well, it wasn’t actually my fault. The lady just gave me the card and I didn’t have a choice. I saw behind her, though. There were other less ugly cards.”

The hand that was in the pocket holding Yeosang’s subway card clenched around it. It felt glossy against his palm.

“Well, yeah, it’s ugly, but I don’t really care,” Yeosang said with a dismissive shrug.

It was an obvious lie. Yeosang had a specific look on his face and lilt to his voice whenever he lied, and he was sure that Yunho or Mingi could have picked it up if they looked their way. The only question was if Wooyoung could do the same thing.

Wooyoung chuckled, low and leveled with his voice. “I dunno. You look like you do,” he remarked.

Yeosang couldn’t help but send him a lighthearted glare. But he watched the way Wooyoung quickly glanced away before making eye contact again. Yeosang had to physically fight off the urge to laugh again, holding the subway card harder in his hand.

“Like I told you, I don’t really care,” Yeosang said. “I think subway cards of all things are meant to look ugly.”

“Yeah, you have a point.” Wooyoung crossed his legs, slouching a little. “I guess you’re stuck with this card for another four years.”

Yeosang hummed in acknowledgement, but didn’t say anything further. That was, until Yunho and Mingi seemed a little too into their duet to actually pay attention to their audience in the same moment a sudden realisation sprang to Yeosang’s head.

“Were you following us?” Yeosang asked Wooyoung.

When Wooyoung looked away from where he was blankly staring at the opposite wall to Yeosang, his brows rose in confusion.

“How did you know we were at the station?” Yeosang clarified, clearing his throat when he felt it close up a little. Wooyoung holding eye contact with him was a bit intimidating (though nowhere near as terrifying as Hongjoong, he thought absently), even though he didn’t quite want to admit it to himself. “You came out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t know you were at the station,” Wooyoung countered easily, his tone of voice conveying nothing that indicated he was lying. “I just happened to be there at the same time as you. If it makes you feel better, I only have Yunho’s number.”

Yeosang didn’t quite understand the correlation between him having Yunho’s number and him being at the station at the same time as them, but he supposed that Wooyoung was just trying to alleviate any stress Yeosang may have had about Wooyoung stalking them. He decided he did a half-good job at it.

When Yeosang was sure Wooyoung was properly fixated on his phone, he snuck a glance at him that, perhaps, lasted a moment too long. He noticed how Wooyoung had more piercings on his left ear than he did on his right; two on his lobe and one on his upper cartilage.

And then Wooyoung smiled at something on his phone, which was when Yeosang caught sight of a dimple on his left cheek. It wasn’t as deep as San’s dimples, he noted dimly, but it was still there. Not that Yeosang quite cared about that, either.

“Right,” said Yeosang.

♤ ♤ ♤

On days when he felt like he deserved it, Yeosang would venture further into his landscape. Further into his mind.

Beside the large field filled with sunflowers and in front of a forest next to the mountain, there was a hut, too small to be considered a cottage. It was quaint, and a bit plain; the sort of thing that Yeosang had most likely seen in any cartoon or movie adaptation of a hut.

If Yeosang felt like it, he would pick up any fallen sunflowers and lean them neatly on the exterior wall of the hut. On the hut, he’d imagine a window, but not a door.

Of course, since it was all a figment of his imagination, Yeosang couldn’t do much but just picture how things in the prairie would feel like, or look like. For all he knew, Yeosang hadn’t even conjured up the look of the prairie using his own head, instead basing it off a stock image he may have seen once in his lifetime.

But it wasn’t as though he cared about that, either. It was his own mind, after all. A place no one else could infiltrate.

Yeosang was broken out of his thoughts when San dropped his laptop on the space next to him on the couch with a sigh.

Yeosang lowered the screen of his laptop and looked around the library to see if anyone had possibly been disturbed because of San’s ignorance, only to find that no one seemed to even bat an eyelid. He shifted his gaze to look at San then, instinctively putting a finger to his lips in an attempt to shush him.

San huffed as he dropped next to Yeosang, looking sullen beyond belief. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “but some buses are so gross! The bus I just took had coffee spilt all over the floor and rubbish everywhere. I couldn’t stand or sit anywhere without getting at least some coffee on my shoes. Not to mention, the only people on the bus were those annoying teenagers whose only reason for using the bus is to transport their fucking marijuana…”

“We used to be teenagers once as well, y’know,” Yeosang remarked with a smirk. San just scoffed at him. “We also used to be public nuisances.”

San clearly did not enjoy Yeosang’s remarks, but if he did, then he did a good job of hiding it. He smacked Yeosang on the arm before pulling his laptop to his lap. “No, I don’t wanna talk about it,” San said in a tone that brooked no rebuttal. “Let’s change the subject. Didn’t you go to a karaoke bar with Yunho and Mingi yesterday?”

Yeosang shifted in his seat. “And Wooyoung,” he added.

The name brought confusion to San’s face. “Wooyoung? I thought it was only you, Mingi and Yunho?”

“It was supposed to be,” Yeosang said with a sigh. “You won’t believe me if I told you, but Wooyoung coincidentally met us at the train station. Yunho invited him to join, so he did.”

Yeosang expected himself to react in an unpleasant way when the words were spoken aloud, but all he did was shift in his seat a little more. He didn’t even feel that annoyed thinking about it. He still didn’t really have any sort of affinity for Wooyoung, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from acknowledging the fact that he had a genuinely good time yesterday, even if it hadn’t gone according to plan.

At least, it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would go. Could have been better had Wooyoung not been there, but it wasn’t that bad. Not that he would ever say that aloud.

“Oh, really?” When Yeosang hummed in confirmation, San continued. “So, what of it? Was he annoying? Nice? Is he a good singer?”

“Objectively speaking?” Yeosang theatrically rubbed his chin to seem as though he was in thought. “Well, to be honest with you… the guy’s not half bad when it comes to singing. Or dancing.”

Though he would never outrightly admit it, if Yeosang was given the choice, Wooyoung’s voice and dance skills would most likely also be one thing that he could have liked about him. Could have. Maybe in another universe where he didn’t seem like a well-bred dumbass. Even though it was hard to come to terms with, there was something compensatory about Wooyoung being something close to an asshat but having a prowess in dancing and singing.

“Seriously?” San said.

“Objectively speaking,” Yeosang repeated. “And he’s not all that bad. He may be a bit abrupt from time to time, but… whatever. Actually no—he’s still loud as hell. And annoying.”

They were quiet for a moment before Yeosang spoke again.

“Okay, but…” When Yeosang trailed off, San pinned him down with a curious look. “He’s just Yeonjun’s roommate, right? So he’s been around for a good year now…” San only nodded, urging Yeosang to continue. “Why the hell is he suddenly making an appearance? And all at once?”

“Why are you concerned?” San asked, sidling up so that he could lay his head on Yeosang’s shoulder, eyes on his laptop. “Did he do something to you?”

“No,” Yeosang lied. “I mean—it’s just weird, y’know? Unusual.”

He didn’t know how to go on. It was as if the topic of Wooyoung would always render him a little dense and short of words. Yeosang couldn’t decide if that was particularly a good thing, even though part of his brain knew it was probably not.

“Hmm,” San said. Through his periphery, Yeosang could see San scrolling through his email inbox. “I get what you mean. He’s sort of a nice guy. I don’t know why you hate him.”

“I never said I hated him, I just _don’t like_ him,” Yeosang defended. “I just think it’s strange that he’s suddenly appearing in our lives here and there all at once.”

“Well, you’re definitely concerned with him more than you’d probably like to admit,” San surmised. Yeosang parted his lips to speak but ended up closing his mouth, finding himself incapable of articulating a sentence to defend himself once more. “Do you like him?”

Yeosang knew immediately by the tone of his voice and context of the situation what San meant by ‘like’. He was tempted to shove San off him. “What? God, _no_ ,” he said. “He’s just a guy that’s… there? Like, he just exists?”

San chuckled. “Don’t lie to me—I _know_ he’s your type.”

Wooyoung was his type, but if it was one thing he wasn’t about to utter out loud, it was that.

“I don’t think you realise how much you’d benefit from a knee to the balls,” Yeosang said, deadpan.

San laughed harder this time, capturing the attention of a few people around them. Yeosang used his free hand to pat San on the shoulder in an effort to calm him.

In truth, Yeosang didn’t mind whatever San did. He was, after all, his roommate and one of the few people he trusted most that was thick-skinned enough to tolerate Yeosang whenever his words got a little too blunt. That, and he was more than supportive of Yeosang’s preferences in dating and whatever nuances came with it, even if the topic didn’t come up a lot.

Yeosang couldn’t quite understand how someone as bright and brilliant as San could befriend him, and stay with him, but he guessed he liked that. San was one of his best friends. He loved him.

“Yeosangie, relax,” San cooed, snuggling closer to Yeosang. “He’s only been around for, what, three days? A week? You’re stressing over the wrong thing. We gotta get started on our drone.”

Right, because that was the reason Yeosang and San were here right now. Yeosang had almost forgotten while in the heat of discussing the karaoke night and Wooyoung. He straightened up carefully, making a conscious effort not to accidentally push San off him.

Both San and Yeosang were in the process of online shopping for certain hardware when a tall, looming figure stood in front of him. Yeosang raised his eyes from the screen. One of the freshmen he was familiar with, Soobin, was smiling down at them.

“Hi, Yeosang, San,” he greeted. “I didn’t think I’d see you guys here.”

“Didn’t think we’d see you here either,” San said, lifting his head off Yeosang’s shoulder to look Soobin in the eye. Yeosang felt a little numb on the part of his shoulder where San’s head had been. “How d’you find your first semester? Still being fear mongered by the seniors? You miss high school?”

Soobin rolled his eyes in a rather dramatic effect. “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be. And you know the only person fear mongering here is you,” he said, smiling.

San let out a bout of laughter, but it was considerably quieter than when he’d burst out laughing at Yeosang’s threat. Yeosang smiled at him.

“Oh,” Soobin piped, eyes widening a fraction, seemingly having remembered something. “Are you guys going to the carnival?”

“Carnival?” Yeosang said. He barely just registered Soobin looking right at him.

“Yeah, that one annual carnival the university holds around the start of November,” Soobin explained. “Don’t you guys know?”

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” San clarified, shaking his head. “We just didn’t go last year. Hongjoong- and Seonghwa-hyung did, though.”

Yeosang remembered that. He vaguely recalled how their friend group had all collectively agreed to let the pair go out to the carnival by themselves as a ploy to let them solidify their relationship, and when it did, none of them regretted not going. Yeosang didn’t forget how Jongho had been particularly happy about Hongjoong and Seonghwa getting together, being their ultimate wingman.

“Oh,” said Soobin. “Well, are you going this year?”

San cast his gaze towards Yeosang then, looking at him with questioning eyes. Yeosang could only return the look, unsure of what San actually wanted.

“I mean,” Yeosang started, staring back up at Soobin, “if everyone else wants to go, then yeah.”

San nodded with a sound of affirmation. Soobin’s face lit up with a smile.

“Okay,” Soobin said, straightening his posture. “If you do end up going, tell me, yeah?”

San and Yeosang both gave him a nod before Soobin eventually walked off, and San laid his head back on Yeosang’s shoulder. It wasn’t numb anymore.

“Would you tell him if we all ended up going?” San asked in a low mumble, resuming scrolling through certain webpages.

Yeosang lifted the shoulder that San’s head wasn’t laying on in a half-shrug. “Do you want me to be honest with you?” he asked, equally as quiet.

“Yeah.”

“I like Soobin and all—really, I do. But I’d rather it just be the seven of us.”

“Same.”

A smile crept its way onto Yeosang’s face. He couldn’t suppress the pleasant feeling that rippled through his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! here are some petitions that you can sign that haven’t reached their goals yet:  
> \- [prevent julius jones from being executed](https://t.co/dFIHEzjdhz)  
> \- [justice for belly mujinga](https://www.change.org/p/govia-thameslink-justice-for-belly-mujinga-justiceforbellymujinga)  
> \- [justice for breonna taylor](https://www.change.org/p/andy-beshear-justice-for-breonna-taylor)  
> \- [reopen kendrick johnson’s case](http://chng.it/ShYkXDdhqp)  
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> 
> [here](https://twitter.com/defnceles/status/1268721489278312448?s=21) is a link to a whole thread of petitions. i hope we can all do our part and fight for the justice everyone deserves ♡


	3. bringin’ on the heartbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeosang didn’t have enough time to silently wallow in his misery before he was dragged away from the rest of the group. But before they all disappeared from his line of sight, San caught his eye, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello ! here are some more petitions you can sign:  
> \- [justice for shukri abdi](http://chng.it/N5SmrL8Zdj)  
> \- [justice for dominique fells](http://chng.it/B6F7y6gSvL)  
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> \- [donate to raise money for the yemen crisis](https://t.co/4ssj3WITVC)  
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> 
> behold, one of my favourite chapters ~

San was tolerable on most days whenever they were running late for something. Yeosang had long ago learned to deflect any snappish remarks that came his way whenever San got ansty in these types of situations, but today—the day of the carnival—seemed to be special in its own kind of way, and for many odd reasons.

“You’ve got to figure out what you’re gonna do about your… tardiness,” San stated as he gave Yeosang’s hair one last brush. Since San didn’t trust Yeosang enough to do his own hair fast enough, he delegated himself to doing it for Yeosang, all the while making sure Yeosang had no room to argue or refuse him. “More than half the times we were late to any lectures was because of you, Yeosangie…”

While he was absolutely right, Yeosang ignored San’s statements, instead going down another conversation path. “I don’t know why you think I need to do my hair,” he remarked, standing up from where San made him sit on the bed and turning around to face him. “I’m gonna go on rides, so it’s gonna get messed up either way.”

San shot Yeosang another one of his disappointed looks before he grabbed his wallet, then Yeosang’s hand. “Enough with your bullshitting, let’s just go.”

Yeosang had to press his lips in an attempt to stop himself from grinning, but failed when San made them run all the way to the train station. He wanted to tell San about how he felt his hair become all messed up just rushing into the train station and that his work had been for nothing, but held his tongue. He would figure it out himself soon enough.

When they arrived on the platform that would take them to the carnival, they found Seonghwa, Hongjoong and Jongho already waiting on the far end of it. Yeosang gave San a quelling look when he tried to get him to run again, and was thankful when San didn’t carry out his plan, instead choosing to sport a pout as he tugged his wrist to the three of their friends waiting.

The three of them greeted San and Yeosang upon their arrival, and Yeosang noticed that Jongho in particular was smiling rather widely, no doubt indicating that he was probably the most excited out of them all. He also saw Seonghwa holding a wrap of kimbap in one of his hands, while the other held Hongjoong’s. Seonghwa said, “Now we just have to wait for the others.”

They fell into a silence after that, as Yeosang dimly took note of the few other people joining them on the platform and trying to figure out if it was Yunho or Mingi from the corners of his eyes.

After a moment, Jongho lifted his hand and made grabby motions towards Seonghwa’s kimbap. The elder pinched off a morsel and gave it to him.

Hongjoong leaned in then, making the same grabby motions as Jongho. Seonghwa did the same as he had for Jongho, except he gave Hongjoong a considerably smaller amount.

Hongjoong balked at what little portion of food was placed in his palm. “Seriously? This is all you’re giving me?” he said, clearly affronted.

Seonghwa wordlessly took another bite out of his kimbap, not bothering to dignify Hongjoong with a response.

Nonetheless, Hongjoong stuffed the kimbap in his mouth. “No homo, Seonghwa, but you’re a bitch.”

“We’re literally dating,” said Seonghwa.

It was obvious why Hongjoong was all antsy, and a little bit delirious. The blood in his veins had been replaced with the coffee he seemed to be addicted to. Yeosang noticed San laughing under his breath.

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Hongjoong countered, rolling his eyes and detaching himself from Seonghwa. “I’d like to see your face when I give you little to no kimbap when you ask for it.”

It was unclear if Hongjoong meant his words or not, but Yeosang was saved the struggle of worrying about it when he heard footsteps approaching them. He turned his head, and was almost prompted to jump onto the tracks when he saw Wooyoung trailing just behind Mingi and Yunho.

Yeosang felt himself move a little closer to San, and was almost relieved when San looped an arm around his shoulders naturally, obliviously.

“Sorry we’re late,” Yunho said, offering an apologetic smile. “Mingi got a lecture from one of the ticket controllers because his fare balance was in the negatives.”

“To be fair,” Mingi defended loudly, “I’d just reached the negatives today, but he kinda just assumed I’ve had it in the negatives for however long he thought I did. That, and…”

Mingi plunged into a spiel about how public transport controllers were a little too strict on commuters, and was so adamant about the topic that the only input any of them could put in was a nod and very brief hums of understanding. 

Yeosang tried not to focus on the fact that Wooyoung was here, experiencing the same thing he was. He was very well aware of the fact that he was overreacting being all ansty just because Wooyoung was here, and had to remind himself of the deal they’d made. 

Wooyoung would have to give Yeosang his transport fare money as the weeks went on, so Yeosang could at least pretend to not be annoyed every time he was within a five foot radius of him.

When Mingi paused briefly, Wooyoung piped in, “You can’t seriously tell me you’ve only met mean guards.”

Yeosang felt his heart rate shoot up to an abnormal speed, and he hoped desperately that Wooyoung wouldn’t accidentally divulge any information about him having bad fare evading habits to the rest of the group, or, even worse, anything about the deal they had made just a week ago. He wouldn’t know how to explain himself if either of those pieces of information somehow made it out.

“You won’t believe me, but yeah, I’ve only met mean guards,” Mingi said easily, as if that was the most honest thing he could say. “What, have you only met nice ones?”

Jongho chimed in, “Something tells me you shouldn’t trust Wooyoung-hyung on his judgement of whether or not he’s only met nice train station controllers in his life.”

He earned a doubtful look from Wooyoung, who asked, “What makes you say that?”

Jongho looked so sure of himself that Yeosang was tempted to laugh. “Not to be that person, hyung, but you look like you had a growling phase in kindergarten.”

“I did, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“What he means,” Hongjoong piped up, “is that you can’t be trusted, Wooyoung.”

This prompted Wooyoung to lose it, essentially, when he argued with Mingi by saying that not all train station guards are mean, while somehow simultaneously shooting Jongho snappish reprimands about how to speak respectfully to his elders. Hongjoong found perhaps too much amusement in that, having to clutch onto Seonghwa’s arm as his body was all but consumed by his laughter.

Even when the train arrived and their small dispute had subsided, Yeosang hoped inwardly that Wooyoung wouldn’t have to interact much with him now that the rest of their friend group was here. After all, Yeosang thought that was the least Wooyoung could do.

♤ ♤ ♤

The carnival was held on one of the university’s sports ovals. The place was littered with rides and a large number of kiosks, and the most prominent form of illumination were the vibrant, colourful lights attached to each ride and kiosk as a means of decoration. Some corners of the oval had ticket booths, and Yeosang could see that the majority of attendees were students, but also plus ones.

The eight of them walked into the large space, next to a merry-go-round that didn’t have many people lingering near its sides. When Yeosang snuck a glance at the queue, he had to bite back the urge to laugh upon seeing that they were all couples, no doubt going on the ride to satisfy those corny, amusement park romance aesthetics.

“So,” Jongho said, clapping his hands in a theatrical gesture, “how are we gonna split up? Tallest to shortest? Eldest to youngest? Best looking to worst—”

At the slap Seonghwa gave him on the arm, the youngest promptly cut himself off, sighing in disappointment. Seonghwa went on, “How about least scared of the Cyclone to the most scared?”

Hongjoong sighed rather dramatically, shoving Seonghwa behind him. “Let’s just split up in the order we’re in right now, yeah? Yunho-yah, move to the side a little bit—yeah, that’s it. Now, I don’t care if you aren’t in the same group as your crush, you’re all going to socialise and be friends and have a good as shit time! Okay?” he said all in one breath, before looping his arms with Seonghwa and plastering him to his side.

Yeosang quickly took that as his opportunity to scan who he was with: Yunho, Jongho and Wooyoung.

All three of the other people in Yeosang’s group’s eyes were pinned on him, but the only gaze he returned was Wooyoung’s.

He thought he might have puked again.

This was ridiculous. How could the universe be so annoying so as to put him and Wooyoung in any and every situation? And why was it always him and Wooyoung? Had he done something in his past life that severely pissed off a divine entity so that his life would now just be a series of “Let’s see how we can fuck up Yeosang’s day today”?

Yeosang didn’t have enough time to silently wallow in his misery before he was dragged away from the rest of the group, someone already having wrapped an arm around his shoulders to guide him. But before they all disappeared from his line of sight, San caught his eye, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Yeosang would kill him later.

Jongho pulled them to an empty space next to a fairy floss kiosk. When Yeosang observed him a little closer, Jongho’s demeanour, too, had some trace of the same mischief he’d seen in San’s face. He felt the walls around his throat contract a little bit in anxiety. Had they planned something he hadn’t known about?

Jongho clapped once again, a little more confidently now that he didn’t have Seonghwa to keep him at bay. “So!” he started, considerably more enthusiastically than before. “Cyclone?”

Yunho and Wooyoung both exclaimed their affirmations a little too quickly. Yeosang blinked before nodding.

The Cyclone was a whole lot bigger up close when they stood in line, the flashing LED lights on the rims of the metal that was bracketing it all together blinking dauntingly right at Yeosang’s face. If simply looking at the ride stand there in all its acrophobia-inducing glory stressed Yeosang out only a little bit, he could only imagine the type of fear Seonghwa would probably feel being within a five meter radius of the thing.

Yunho stood next to him then, nudging him with his elbow. Yeosang looked up at him. Yunho’s eyes creased with a smile.

“You’re not scared, are you?” Yunho asked.

Yeosang only shook his head. “You’re not, right?”

Yunho laughed heartily, almost as if feeling challenged. “Of course not. Probably not as confident as our beloved Jongho, though.”

They found out later on that Yunho’s statement would not age well.

It came all of a sudden and all at once—as soon as they’d all hopped off the Cyclone, Jongho had expelled all the contents of his stomach on the grass beneath them before any of the others could even think of escorting him to a bin or secluded area. Jongho’s little scene had drawn the attention of other students, most of their reactions bordering that of disgust. But as much as Yeosang had wanted to fend off all those who gave Jongho the stink eye, the most he could do was pat the younger on the back as he continued to empty his stomach.

When Jongho straightened up and fixed his hair—which had been tousled courtesy of the Cyclone—he looked a lot paler than normal. The corners of his eyes were lined with faint tears and his eyelids were drooping.

“For someone with such a high alcohol tolerance, you sure as hell have a bad gag reflex,” Yunho remarked, still rubbing Jongho’s back in a comforting manner. “I don’t think you should go on anymore rides, Jongho-yah.”

“No, no,” Jongho said a little too quickly, a panicked look crossing his face. “I can still—I just—”

He cut himself off when a hand of his came down to hold his stomach and the other went up to cover his mouth, a faint gagging sound reaching Yeosang’s ears. Jongho clenched his eyes shut, brows creasing in such a way that told them all he clearly shouldn’t be going on anymore rides that would surely upset his stomach once more.

Yeosang winced visibly. He felt bad for Jongho, a lot more now that he knew he was the most enthusiastic about going to the carnival in the first place. Yunho continued to rub on the youngest’s back, and Yeosang caught the small pout on Yunho’s face.

Yeosang heard someone shift behind him. Out of habit, he glanced over his shoulder, eyes finding Wooyoung. He looked almost as uncomfortable as Jongho, save for the droopy eyes and tired look on his face.

“Jongho-yah,” Yunho cooed, “seriously. You can’t go on anymore rides.”

Jongho groaned. “Hyung—that doesn’t make sense!” he countered, sending Yunho a cold look. “How can I possibly get more sick and vomit anymore when all that was in my stomach is literally right in front of you?” Jongho made a dramatic gesture of pointing to the vomit on the ground in front of them.

Yunho sighed, resigned. Wooyoung looked to Yeosang. Yeosang looked back.

Yunho pinched the bridge of his nose, visibly annoyed at Jongho’s preferences. In the end, he sighed once more and seized Jongho by the forearm. “Jongho, you and I have to go back to your dorm.” Jongho looked murderous even in his state of unwellness, and even opened his mouth to protest, but at Yunho’s subduing look, he went back to looking sullen. Yunho hazarded a glance over at Yeosang and Wooyoung. “You two,” Yunho nodded at both of them, “you’re going to be alone, I guess…”

Jongho rolled his eyes, pushing Yunho aside. “Actually—”

Yunho only shoved Jongho back again, and Yeosang couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. Yunho pinned both Yeosang and Wooyoung down with a hard look. “Guys, I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to go on without us.” Yunho took a quick look at Jongho, who looked the most sulky Yeosang had ever seen him. “Jongho-yah, it’s okay. We’ll go tomorrow, hm?”

Jongho didn’t look particularly satisfied with that, but he didn’t rebut Yunho.

Yunho slung an arm around Jongho, looking pleased with himself. “Okay,” he said, looking at both Wooyoung and Yeosang in turn. “I’ll see you both tomorrow, then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Yeosang said. Wooyoung nodded.

Yunho gave them both a single nod while Jongho merely pouted, and no sooner had Yeosang waved at them and Wooyoung shouted, “Get well soon!” had they rounded the corner and left.

Yeosang looked at Wooyoung again. They stared at each other, an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air momentarily before Yeosang broke it by clearing his throat.

“Either we go back to the others, or you can continue staring at me awkwardly while Jongho’s vomit rots on the ground,” he said, keeping his face as impassive as it would allow.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but seemed like he couldn’t fight off the smile that presented itself on his face. Yeosang saw his faint, barely-there dimples again.

“I’ll call Mingi,” Yeosang said before Wooyoung could give him an actual response. Wooyoung only nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets and shifting his weight on one of his legs.

Mingi didn’t pick up, so Yeosang tried to call San. When San didn’t pick up, he tried both Hongjoong and Seonghwa, only for them both to send him to voicemail. Yeosang felt his brows crease in confusion. What exactly were they doing that all four of them simultaneously weren’t able to answer his calls?

“No luck?” asked Wooyoung.

Yeosang fixed his gaze on Wooyoung then. The smile had gone, now replaced with a mildly concerned look on his face. Yeosang shook his head.

Wooyoung sighed, saying, “It’s okay, I’ll call them.”

Yeosang wanted to tell him that he’d probably get the same result, but instead held his tongue and waited with his arms crossed as he watched Wooyoung call all four members of the other group. He couldn’t help but scrutinise the way Wooyoung’s facial expression changed as he kept on getting declined. Something about it was interesting to look at, and for a reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

When Wooyoung called the last person, the disappointed look on his face instead morphed into something close to horror. He pulled his phone away from his ear, eyes widening in shock.

Yeosang gave him a worried look. As far as he was concerned, Wooyoung looking like that didn’t seem like a good thing. “What happened?” he asked.

Wooyoung pressed his lips into a thin line before he spoke. His voice came out a little higher in pitch this time. “I don’t think Hongjoong-hyung was meant to answer that call.”

Yeosang drew his head back in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” Wooyoung looked almost as stressed as he did on the day that he broke Yeosang’s drone, if the panicked expression and the eyes looking everywhere but at him were anything to go by. “I mean—he’s a little busy…”

Wooyoung didn’t have to continue. Yeosang knew immediately, the comprehension settling in making him relax his shoulders.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa were, most likely, alone.

“Right,” Yeosang said.

He felt weird. This felt too similar to when they were in the karaoke room.

Yeosang cleared his throat, then said, “Well, let’s just walk around and find San and Mingi—you know, because that’s our only option.”

“Wait, _what_?” Wooyoung looked positively concerned. He gestured to the lively surrounding area around them. “You’re not serious, are you? There’s _no way_ you could find them in this huge oval. It’s packed with other students.”

Yeosang felt annoyance strike through him. Scowling, he looked around in a rather futile attempt at trying to find San or Mingi from his vantage point. All he got, however, was just the faces of students he just vaguely recognised. He turned back to Wooyoung, glowering at him.

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow at him then. “Well? Are you going to continue staring at me awkwardly while Jongho’s vomit rots on the ground?”

Yeosang sighed, tempted to roll his eyes. Wooyoung only continued to look at him before he started losing patience.

Yeosang only had a second to prepare himself before Wooyoung seized hold of his wrist. He felt the walls of his throat close up. It was all too sudden.

“You’re quite literally the most dead-on-the-inside person I’ve ever met,” Wooyoung said, a smile cloyingly lingering on his lips. His face was close to Yeosang’s, perhaps a little too close. Making eye-contact with him seemed harder now, even if it was supposedly easier. “Let’s go get fairy floss!”

Yeosang only managed to exhale before Wooyoung was practically dragging him towards the fairy floss kiosk.

The sound of the music blasting from the speakers on the rides sounded fainter now that they were in the food court. Yeosang caught a whiff of fried chicken, and it took practically everything in him not to melt on the spot.

They stood in line behind a group of girls Yeosang recognised as freshmen. They chatted animatedly while Yeosang stared absently at the whirring machine that generated the fairy floss on a thin, paper cone. It was hypnotising to a certain extent, but not enough that he completely forgot about Wooyoung’s hand that was still on him.

“Kind of funny how Jongho was the first one to get sick when he was the most stoked about coming here, huh?” Wooyoung said in conversation.

Yeosang was still hyper-focused on Wooyoung’s hand still holding his wrist, irresistibly reminded of the time they had been spying on Wooyoung’s ex-girlfriend.

Much like a few moments ago, it felt too similar. And yet, familiar.

“Yeah,” Yeosang said, and when his voice came out a little throaty, he cleared his throat. “It’s kinda comical how he ended up in this situation, honestly. If you were here last year, you’d know.”

Yeosang didn’t mean to say it in such a way that Wooyoung would feel a sense of exclusion, but when the words escaped him, he couldn’t help the guilt that slowly crept its way from his stomach to his heart. He snuck a sidelong glance at Wooyoung, expecting him to look a little taken aback, or maybe even hurt, but all he saw was the soft pout and furrowed brows as a result of his curiosity.

“Really? What happened?” Wooyoung asked.

“Uh…” Yeosang nearly floundered for words because Wooyoung’s hold on his wrist tightened infinitesimally, and even though that was probably the least significant thing to focus on, he couldn’t help it. “Uh, well, Hongjoong- and Seonghwa-hyung were kinda in that part of their relationship where they know they like each other but also don’t, y’know?”

Wooyoung nodded fervently, easily catching on to what he was talking about. The line moved up. Yeosang continued. “Yeah, well, Jongho set them both up so that they had to attend the carnival and basically take each other out on a date and solidify their relationship. I heard from Hongjoong-hyung that Seonghwa-hyung asked him to be his boyfriend on the Ferris wheel, which is kind of ironic, because Seonghwa-hyung is acrophobic.”

Yeosang was rambling, but by the time he belatedly realised so, Wooyoung was smiling. The dimples. The creases at the corners of his eyes. Up close, they were… almost frighteningly prominent.

“That’s cute,” Wooyoung said.

It was their turn to get their fairy floss now. Yeosang got a cone of pink raspberry fairy floss while Wooyoung got a mix of both the blue bubblegum and raspberry.

“How did you find the Cyclone?” asked Wooyoung, as they began to walk around the oval. “Did you feel sick?”

Yeosang shook his head. He wanted to tell Wooyoung that he did feel slightly nauseous throughout the whole ordeal, but thought he didn’t need to know that. Wooyoung wasn’t close to Yeosang in the way that they could say pointless things to each other and not really care. There would be no point in wasting his breath. “No,” he ended up saying. “Did you?”

Wooyoung shook his head as well, and they were silent for a moment before Wooyoung’s eyes caught sight of a kiosk that had its exterior lined with various plushies. 

Yeosang just had enough time to take another bite out of his fairy floss before Wooyoung grabbed his hand again and tugged him towards it.

From observation, Yeosang realised that winning the game that was displayed before them—a simple game of trying to shoot ping pong balls into a porcelain clown’s mouth—was their way of winning one of the many plushies staring down at them with their beaded and embroidered eyes. Yeosang thought that San would like this game, given that he really liked plushies.

“How about we play Rock Paper Scissors?” Wooyoung suggested, an impish lilt punctuating his voice. “Loser has to pay for the tickets of the winner until they get the plushie they want.”

Yeosang’s eyebrows raised in incredulity. “That’s not fair—what if I just don’t win every time I go? What’s your wallet gonna say to that?”

Wooyoung’s mouth pulled into a smirk. “Bold of you to assume you’re not gonna be the one paying,” he said, holding out a clenched fist in a dare.

Yeosang eyed Wooyong’s hand. There wasn’t any reason for him to deny the challenge.

To Yeosang’s disappointment, Wooyoung won with scissors. When Yeosang realised he had to pay, the most he could actually do was narrow his eyes into a glare as Wooyoung cheered and did a little dance of victory. Yeosang only shoved him out of the way to where the lady behind the counter was waiting for her next contestant.

The clown heads were no bigger than the size of a small potted plant. There were three of them in total, all positioned in a horizontal line with about half a metre’s distance between them. There were lights embedded within their porcelain heads, most of which glared back at Yeosang. He had a squint if he wanted to look directly at one.

“How many tickets for one turn?” Yeosang asked. Wooyoung came up behind him, putting his forearm on Yeosang’s shoulder. Yeosang had to make a conscious effort not to glance back at the other boy.

The lady pinned them both with a dubious look. “1,000 won,” she replied.

Yeosang wanted to back away as soon as he heard the price, but Wooyoung’s clearly satisfied laugh deterred him from doing so. Yeosang couldn’t help but swat Wooyoung on the stomach.

“Go on,” Wooyoung prompted. The grin widened. “Give her the money.”

“I’m gonna beat the shit out of you.”

“Yeah, okay. Give her the money.”

Begrudgingly, he handed the lady a ₩1,000 note as Wooyoung picked up three ping pong balls from where they were provided on the counter. In a rather bored, but seemingly well-practiced tone, the lady said, “If you get two out of three, you get 5,000 won. If you get all three, you get whatever plushie you want.”

Yeosang nodded in acknowledgment while Wooyoung sent him a smile, eyes gleaming with mischief. Yeosang returned his look with an ingratiating smile, waving a hand to urge him to go.

The lady pressed some button Yeosang couldn’t see, activating the clowns so that they moved side to side and back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm. Obnoxious music started playing from various speakers lined along the kiosk, and it took Yeosang all that was left of his self-control not to cringe away.

Wooyoung’s nose scrunched in concentration, as he balanced his weight towards the first clown. No sooner had he tossed the ping pong ball had it bounced off the red nose.

“Seriously? I was so close!” Wooyoung whined before moving sideways to the next clown. Yeosang caught the lady behind the counter snicker.

Yeosang pretended to inspect his nails, so as to look unbothered. “Sounds like a ‘you’ problem to me,” he remarked absently.

An abrupt, yet soft sensation that struck his nose brought Yeosang out of his facade. He cast his eyes down to the ground, finding a single ping pong ball on the grass. He picked it up and tossed it back to Wooyoung, who looked annoyed beyond belief. Wooyoung didn’t miss his opportunity to poke his tongue out at him. Yeosang replied with a smile.

Wooyoung ended up with one out of three. Yeosang silently hoped that the lady would at least turn off the obnoxious music once his turn was done, but she only stood there, watching past Wooyoung and Yeosang out at something in the distance. Yeosang turned to Wooyoung with a disappointed-but-not-surprised look.

The opportunity was right in front of him, and Yeosang didn’t hesitate to grab at it. He tried to sidestep paying for more tickets by walking away in a dismissive fashion, only to be stopped by a determined Wooyoung, the latter tugging at his shoulder by squeezing it with a hand, light enough to bring him back to his original position, but not hard enough that it hurt. Yeosang glanced back apprehensively.

Wooyoung gave him a look, saying, “Who said I was done?”

Yeosang pulled his shoulder away from Wooyoung’s hand. It was surprising just how clingy Wooyoung seemed to be, but he supposed that was just one of his characteristics. Meaning he would have to get used to it. “I didn’t think you were being serious,” Yeosang tried to justify.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, you’re still paying.” He tugged at Yeosang’s bicep, but Yeosang stood his ground for just a little longer.

At Wooyoung’s questioning look, Yeosang swallowed. “Can I at least have a budget? 10,000 won?” he requested.

Wooyoung stared for a moment at Yeosang, and it was all the latter could do not to completely eye Wooyoung. Yeosang thought the colourful lights of the kiosk and surrounding rides did some form of justice to Wooyoung’s face, the illumination giving him a rather different glow that he hadn’t seen before. The lights reflecting in his irises looked like stars to Yeosang.

“Okay,” Wooyoung agreed, letting go of Yeosang. If Wooyoung noticed Yeosang practically examining him in the five seconds that he had to do so, then he didn’t bother to announce it. “But whatever prize money I get doesn’t count.”

Yeosang wanted to protest, but that would mean he thought that Wooyoung was even capable of getting two-out-of-three clowns, which would likely further inflate Wooyoung’s ego. Alongside that, he knew there would be some sort of ultimatum anyway. He kept his mouth shut.

Yeosang was 3,000 won short when Wooyoung finally won some goddamned prize money.

Then he was 5,000 won short when Wooyoung won more prize money.

And then he was 8,000 won short when Wooyoung finally got three out of three clowns.

Wooyoung’s happiness at winning the plushie revealed a set of wide, disbelieving eyes before they crinkled up as a sizable smile dominated his face. Yeosang clapped gently as the lady sported a grin herself.

Wooyoung was still ecstatic by the time it came to choose a plushie, bouncing around on the heels of his feet. Yeosang thought he looked like a child like that, overwhelmed with excitement and happy that his efforts had paid off. It was… endearing, to an extent.

“I think you should pick,” said Wooyoung all of a sudden.

Yeosang took a second before he snapped out of his little bubble of focusing on Wooyoung. The black haired boy was looking at him expectantly. His eyes were still glimmering, raw with happiness.

“Why me?” Yeosang asked.

Wooyoung shrugged. “I mean, you did technically waste, like, 8,000 won on me, and not even off your own volition. And, yeah, I’m a bit of an asshat, but I’m a nice asshat, so I think you should at least be able to pick the plushie I win.”

Yeosang’s knee-jerk response would have made him point to the plushie he thought was the ugliest, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. He’d wasted a good amount of money on Wooyoung’s turns to get this plushie, so he might as well get something that’s worth it.

He scanned the plushies set in an array. They were all varying in sizes and colour, so it was relatively difficult trying to figure out which one stood out the most, because they all already did in their own way. Yeosang thought that, if Jongho was here, he’d probably make a comment about the plushies looking like dead bodies hanging up on a wall as their lifeless eyes stared into nothingness.

A pastel yellow, oval-shaped plushie caught his attention for the most part. Every time he tried to scan for anything else he thought was prettier than it, his eyes would always go back to that same yellow plushie. When Yeosang took a step forward to inspect it further, he found out that his attention had been arrested by a plushie that imitated a chick, a protruding orange beak and eyes accentuated by the black embroidery used to create them.

He picked it off the wall, studying it properly as he did so. It was cuter up close, but it wouldn’t be the kind of plushie he would keep. He saw someone like San wanting to keep it, but not himself.

Wooyoung’s face lit up upon seeing the plushie Yeosang had picked. Yeosang handed it over to him, something like a bittersweet smile making its way onto his mouth as he stood directly in front of Wooyoung, about a foot’s distance away from him.

“You’d think for someone as dead on the inside as you, you’d go for the darkest one,” Wooyoung remarked with a smile, hugging the plushie to his chest. “But you’re not too bad.”

Yeosang sighed.

“Oh,” Wooyoung chirped, “your laces are untied.”

That made Yeosang look down, coming to see that both of his shoelaces had come undone. He blinked, then bent down so that he could tie them. By time he’d finished tying them, Wooyoung took that as his opportunity to say, “Thanks for bowing to me.”

Yeosang didn’t have to look up to see the smile on Wooyoung’s face, already hearing it in his voice. He pinched Wooyoung’s calf with his fingers, eliciting a loud yelp from the latter.

Yeosang stood up and was shocked when Wooyoung, now laughing, put a hand around Yeosang’s shoulders and dragged him off towards another food kiosk. Yeosang took a small, momentary glimpse of Wooyoung. The fake stars were still in his eyes.

♤ ♤ ♤

By the time Yeosang and Wooyoung found the others, their hands were packed with various plushies and servings of food. Yeosang struggled a little to maintain his balance, but he managed with what his legs could do. Wooyoung didn’t miss his opportunity to catch Yeosang off guard, subtly nudging him so that his leg would wobble and he’d fall, but Yeosang would only shove him back. It went on for a while.

San and Mingi’s hair was tousled from how many rides they’d gone on. The same applied to Hongjoong and Seonghwa, except both Wooyoung and Yeosang knew it was probably for different reasons. They shared a conspiratorial look having realised so, snickering inconspicuously.

“Did you guys go on the Cyclone?” asked Hongjoong, raising a brow.

Yeosang took his time to inspect the elder then. Hongjoong’s hair was unkempt that anyone who hadn’t known what Yeosang and Wooyoung did would suspect it was a result of the intensity of the rides. Seonghwa himself looked a little untidy, but the both of them were pretty well kept in terms of their expressions. Hongjoong looked bored beyond belief, and Seonghwa simply looked impassive.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung replied easily. “But Jongho had to ditch. Got sick and all—Yunho went with him.”

A series of sounds went around, most of them being long, drawn out _oh_ ’s and San’s little whines. Yeosang felt himself frown a little.

“That’s okay, at least Yunho has him. He’s in good hands,” Seonghwa said absently, leaning his head on the side of Hongjoong’s. Yeosang found it amusing how Hongjoong still looked bored while Seonghwa was clinging to him the way he was, but also a little endearing how Hongjoong didn’t reject Seonghwa.

“Me and Mingi were planning on going to the convenience store,” said San, looking at Yeosang in particular. “I’ll be back soon later tonight, yeah? Unless you wanna come, Yeosangie?”

It only struck Yeosang in this moment how tired he really was. It’d been a little over an hour after they’d ridden the Cyclone, but it somehow felt as though a whole day had passed. He only realised how leaden his legs felt when he lifted one to take a step forward—it felt like he was yanking it out of quicksand. From next to him, Wooyoung brought a hand up to his mouth to shield his own yawn.

“I think I’m gonna go back to the dorms,” Yeosang said. “You won’t be too long, right?”

San nodded his head, a reassuring smile on his face. “We’re just gonna stock up on some food for Mingi and Yunho’s dorm. Oh, and Yeonjun’s dorm is near our floor, right? Wooyoung can go with you, unless you—,” here, San pointed to Wooyoung, “—wanna come with us, too?”

Wooyoung shook his head. “I’ll pass. I mean, as much as I’d like to, I have a Yeosang to annoy on the train ride back home,” he said.

Yeosang wanted to give Wooyoung an annoyed look, but any semblance of the need to do so vanished when he blinked. His eyelids felt heavy. He was going to fall asleep if he didn’t get back to the dorms soon.

“Okay,” said Seonghwa. “Me and Hongjoong are gonna go back to our apartment then, hm?” Yeosang saw Hongjoong’s arm wrap around Seonghwa’s waist. “Stay safe, guys.”

Their carnival outing ended with them all sharing something close to a group hug before Hongjoong and Seonghwa stalked off to the closest bus stop—though, it was more like Hongjoong and Seonghwa hugging each other while Mingi and San somehow ended up in a battle of who could pinch each other the hardest as Wooyoung and Yeosang tried to balance all their prizes and food in their hands as they half-heartedly returned the hug. San and Mingi walked to the convenience store down the road while Yeosang and Wooyoung had to walk to the closest train station, given that none of the closest bus stops provided any buses that could have possibly transported them there.

Yeosang had finished his food at this point, while Wooyoung was about to finish the rest of the tteokbokki he had in a small cup. Yeosang wondered how he could even managed to hold his chopsticks while the two plushies he was holding were lodged in between his torso and elbows.

The train station wasn’t as empty as Yeosang had thought it would be. While he expected a completely deserted station, he ended up finding a few clusters of people hanging around certain platforms. Some solitary people were standing idly to the sides, either staring at their phones or simply occupied with staring at the walls opposite them. Yeosang found the whole experience a little strange. Out of place, even.

It felt even stranger to Yeosang when he and Wooyoung made it to their designated platform. Not many people were present, save for the two small groups of college kids he knew were going to the same destination as them. There were momentary lapses where Yeosang felt as though he’d accidentally trip and fall face first into the train tracks in front of him, but he decided to attribute that to his slowly growing fatigue.

“I haven’t been to the train station this late in a long time,” said Wooyoung, yawning again. “Forgot how creepy it can get.”

“It’s only creepy if you think it’s creepy,” Yeosang replied, despite the fact that he, too, was a little disconcerted by how eerie the atmosphere seemed at this moment. “It could just be another night for that lady over there, but you’re out here thinking this is a once in a lifetime experience to be in a train station this late at night.”

“All right, smartass, I get your logic,” Wooyoung said, his voice coming out in the form of a hiss. Yeosang didn’t know why their voices were suddenly being lowered, but he didn’t find it in himself to want to do the opposite. “God—do you know what time it is? I have a morning class tomorrow… should I just ditch?”

“No,” Yeosang said quickly. “I mean, yeah, midterms are a bit far away, but you still gotta go. I would.”

“Oh, your midterms are coming?” Wooyoung yawned again. Yeosang yawned too. “Lucky you. Mine are in, like, three weeks. Maybe a month? I don’t remember.”

Yeosang had momentarily forgotten that they had different majors, thus their exams would differ in terms of dates by quite a bit. “In that case,” Yeosang said, voice going lower in pitch as another yawn cut him off, “you gotta go.”

He felt like he was sputtering nonsense, but couldn’t find it in himself to do something about it. Wooyoung hummed in something akin to agreement as he closed his eyes. Yeosang watched through half-lidded eyes as Wooyoung’s head dropped down so that his chin was resting against his neck, face going lax. Yeosang blinked and it took nearly everything in him to not close his own eyes. Did Wooyoung just fall asleep standing?

“Yeosangie,” muttered Wooyoung.

Yeosang was taken aback by the sudden nickname, but the drowsiness he felt discouraged him from properly reacting. Maybe, he thought, Wooyoung only called him that due to his own exhaustion. “Hm?” he said.

“I’m probably gonna fall asleep on the train. Wake me up when we get to our station, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

When the train came about seven minutes later, they actually got seats, and so did the other groups of college kids on their platform. The train was damn near empty, save for them.

Wooyoung took the seat next to Yeosang. The plushies were still clutched tightly in his hands, and Yeosang thought he would at least put them on his lap, but Wooyoung still held on.

“God,” Wooyoung breathed, his head ducking down low again. “I said I would sleep but I just—can’t?”

“Hm,” Yeosang said lowly. “That always happens.”

Yeosang wouldn’t actually know that. He never ended up sleeping on the train, despite however many times he got close to it.

Wooyoung’s head dropped a little lower this time, and by the time Yeosang wondered how on earth his neck could withstand that kind of strain, Wooyoung’s cheek was resting on Yeosang’s shoulder.

With what little strength he could muster, Yeosang used his free hand to push Wooyoung’s head away so that it leaned against the wall of the train behind them, stifling a grimace. Wooyoung’s eyes were half open now and staring at the seats opposite him, and considering how distant his gaze looked, Yeosang thought he wasn’t actually looking at it. Maybe he was thinking.

“I feel kinda bad for you,” Wooyoung said, his voice coming out in a mumble. “I keep on wasting your money. First that drone, and now this plushie.”

“Yeah,” Yeosang said absently, eyes watching the empty seats in front of him idly. “And I don’t have a stable job, either. I mainly just mooch off my parents when I need it. And even then, it’s not a lot. So, yeah, you should feel bad for me.”

Yeosang didn’t know why he was talking to Wooyoung about this. Wooyoung was still a giant pain in the ass to him somewhere in the back of his head, but after tonight, he may not even be that bad. 

Either that, or it was the bone-deep exhaustion and raging desire to go to sleep doing all the talking and thinking. He couldn’t really tell.

“Oh, yeah?” Yeosang saw Wooyoung readjust the plushie so that the latter’s cheek was resting against it. “How’s that money saving thing going for you? Y’know, your engineering assignment thingy…”

“I already ordered the parts I need,” Yeosang answered. “So I’m, like, mega broke.”

“Good thing you have me to save your ass with those subway fares,” said Wooyoung. Yeosang heard the smile in his voice.

“Hey, what’s your major?” Yeosang asked. It struck him in this moment how little he truly knew about Wooyoung aside from all the other superficial things. He knew he was a good dancer and singer, conventionally attractive and a bit of a public nuisance when he wanted to be, but that was about it. “You know, I’ve never seen you around campus before. Do you even go to our university? Does Yeonjun even _have_ a roommate?”

“I don’t know how you were convinced otherwise, but yeah, he does, and it’s _me_.” Wooyoung took that as his opportunity to try and flick Yeosang on the temple with a scoff. Yeosang skilfully dodged, already having heard the threat in Wooyoung’s voice, head moving to the side. Wooyoung chuckled. “My major is economics.”

“Economics,” Yeosang echoed. “Ew. Numbers.”

“Engineering,” Wooyoung retaliated. “Ew. Science.”

Yeosang pressed out a smile, even though he knew Wooyoung wouldn’t see it.

They arrived at their train station around ten minutes later. Yeosang saw with what little amount of time he had through the windows of their carriage that there was no one left. The train was too fast for Yeosang to try and peek through the windows of the other carriages.

Wooyoung yawning once again brought him back to the present. Yeosang looked at him. Wooyoung was staring at the ground.

“I’m not even tired anymore,” Wooyoung said, and when he looked up at Yeosang, his eyes were a little wide, as if he was forcing himself to stay awake, despite his words. “Oh God, are you?”

It was all Yeosang could do not to drop to the ground and let slumber take over him, but he shook his head anyway.

Wooyoung seemed to notice Yeosang’s exhaustion, scoffing. “You’re kinda really bad at lying,” Wooyoung said abruptly. “It’s kind of endearing, though.”

On a normal day, Yeosang would have snapped something witty back at him, but only responded to the other with the blankest expression he could muster with the weariness he was feeling. Wooyoung only laughed at him, and it was louder than the normal middle-ranged laugh he would occasionally let out, but less rowdy than his signature hyena laugh.

Yeosang had no idea why he was suddenly hyper-aware of all these traits of Wooyoung. He had no idea why he was still looking at Wooyoung, even when Yeosang knew that Wooyoung also probably knew he was staring at him.

“It’s getting late,” said Wooyoung, yawning again. Yeosang yawned as well, using his forearm to cover his mouth. “Let’s go.”

They’d only just exited the station while bickering about the constant unpunctuality of certain trains when Yeosang felt a soft succession of taps on his shoulder. He halted in his tracks, turning around to face a short woman.

“Excuse me, sir,” she started, her voice coming out raspy. If the woman knew that, then she didn’t bother to do anything about it. “Do you have any money you could give me? Money to buy dinner?”

Yeosang saw it then that she was at the very least poverty-stricken; her clothes weren’t the stereotypical rags that the media constantly portrayed poor people to wear, but rather dirty, unwashed. Her skin clung to her cheekbones in a way that made Yeosang realise she probably hadn’t eaten in a while, and she had baby hairs that stuck out from every part of her head. While her expression remained a little dejected, he could see traces of faint desperation on her face.

Wooyoung stepped in front of Yeosang then, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he frantically searched for something. Yeosang could only stand and stare as Wooyoung then pulled out a very thin stack of ₩1,000 notes and handed it to her.

The woman’s face flashed to wonder as she eyed the money in her hands. A smile lit up her face as she then looked up to stare elatedly at Wooyoung. From the corner of his eye, Yeosang caught Wooyoung smiling back, his face just as bright as hers.

“Thank you! Thank you so so so much, sir.” The woman bowed profusely several times, her hair swaying as she did so. “Really, thank you. Such kind souls. Have a good night!”

“You too!” Wooyoung called after her, waving even though she’d already turned her back on them and started walking towards the small cluster of restaurants down the road, a skip in her gait.

Yeosang watched the side of Wooyoung’s face. While Yeosang intently stared at him, Wooyoung attentively watched the woman walk into a chain restaurant and out of sight. When Wooyoung turned around and made eye contact with Yeosang, he smiled again.

“That was actually my prize money, and I was gonna use it for something else, but oh well,” Wooyoung said with a smirk, a teasing lilt to his voice. “There goes your weekly fare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot to mention this at the start but all these chapter titles are the names of heavy metal/psychedelic rock songs that i like that somewhat (usually) fit with the chapter


	4. obscured by clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Relax, Mingi,” Yunho said, a playful inflection in his voice. “I know what I’m doing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i should probably stop losing sleep to write this 
> 
> but!!! please check out [this carrd](https://yemencrisis.carrd.co/) and donate as much as you can to any organisations helping to alleviate the yemen crisis. it has petitions and various sources where you can educate yourself on this topic, if you haven’t already!
> 
> a little warning for this chapter: minor mentions of homophobia/biphobia

“Please tell me you’re not posting a picture of me eating kimbap and captioning it political propaganda.”

Yeosang looked over at Hongjoong who had said that, then merely raised a brow in response.

“You’re not even meant to have food in the library,” San reminded the elder, his disappointment making his voice deeper with austerity.

Hongjoong only shrugged, clearly unbothered by the rule, taking a sizable bite out of his kimbap. Yeosang sighed, putting his phone away. He actually _was_ going to caption it as ‘political propaganda’ later on in one of his socials, Hongjoong didn’t need to know that.

It was only them on their table in the library. San and Yeosang had decided to utilise their free time to work on the theory part of their assignment in the library, and since Hongjoong just happened to have free time as well, he joined them. Yeosang thought theory in engineering was a pain in the ass, but he figured having to suffer through it with San, and now Hongjoong, made it considerably better.

Much like the period of time before the carnival about a week ago, Hongjoong’s blood was, unsurprisingly, replaced with coffee once again. Yeosang wondered vaguely if Hongjoong knew about the hyperactive nature he adopted once he consumed a considerable amount of caffeine, but didn’t want to ask him. If Hongjoong didn’t know, then it would be fun just to watch him go about his day, unbeknownst to the fact that he looked more high than caffeinated.

“Maybe,” Hongjoong said, leaning back against his seat. “But what’s the library lady gonna do to me? Shove this kimbap up my ass? In her _dreams_.”

“Hongjoong-hyung,” San sighed, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Why are you even here?”

Yeosang knew San knew why he was here already; he’d told them through text that since Seonghwa’s class would run a little later today, he would be bored to death if he didn’t do something in the time he had alone. It was quite fascinating how Hongjoong’s behaviour changed around Seonghwa versus his behaviour with the rest of their friend group, something Yeosang knew only had to do with the fact that the two of them were, to put it lightly, head-over-heels in love with each other.

“San-ah,” Hongjoong cooed, teasingly taking another bite out of his kimbap. “You’d be surprised at the other shit I’ve done in a library.”

San made a show of fake gagging while Yeosang grimaced visibly. Hongjoong only laughed loudly in response, clearly reveling in the younger boys’ annoyance.

“I need to go find a book,” San said then, looking directly at Yeosang. “It says here we need to find actual books, not just websites.” He pointed to a section of the paper that was in front of him. “I mean, you could have figured that out yourself, but I’m just saying.”

Yeosang nodded, only to frown again when he realised he would be stuck with Hongjoong for however long San was gone. Hongjoong seemed to notice Yeosang’s realisation, smiling roguishly.

Much to Yeosang’s elation, however, Hongjoong didn’t actually bother him as much as he thought he would. Hongjoong finished his kimbap and Yeosang ended up getting a considerable amount of work done in the five minutes he and Hongjoong shared a comfortable silence, before Hongjoong said he needed to use the bathroom.

San was still out scouring the library for books when Hongjoong left, so Yeosang was left to do his work without company. He didn’t mind the silence that enveloped him, but he did wish for a moment that he’d brought his headphones with him.

More so when a loud thud resonated through this study space.

Yeosang snapped his head up, more than ready to death-glare who dared to interrupt his so-far productive study session, only to falter in his annoyance when a mischievous, familiar face stared back at him.

Yeosang instinctively brought a hand up to his face, putting a finger to his lips in a gesture to shush Wooyoung, who’d slammed his backpack onto the table.

Wooyoung simply raised his brows. “What?” he whispered, leaning in dramatically, as though the two were sharing a secret. “You spying on someone?”

Yeosang shook his head both disappointedly and condescendingly, then nodded his head to motion towards the other students in the library and the one librarian who just happened to be passing by, all sharing the same annoyed expression, all glaring at Wooyoung.

Yeosang lowered his hand, watching the way Wooyoung ducked his head in embarrassment before cautiously retracting his backpack, as if to spare Yeosang and the rest of the students any further disturbances. Before Wooyoung could mutter any sort of apology, Yeosang went back to the more important matters at hand. “ _You_?” he demanded of Wooyoung.

Wooyoung did little to suppress the scoff that came out of his mouth. “ _Me_?” he said, sitting down on the chair opposite Yeosang, now making a conscious effort to not slam his backpack down on the table. Instead, he put it down on the floor next to him. “God, Yeosang. You act as though I’m some sort of annoying child you don’t wanna babysit.”

While Wooyoung took his time to examine the space on the table in front of him and figure out what exactly it was that the boy opposite him was doing, Yeosang took a moment to look around. Nothing seemed out of place except for Wooyoung, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was a little strange.

How was he so sure that this wasn’t some poorly orchestrated prank and that Wooyoung wasn’t just popping into his life out of nowhere?

“You can call it that,” Yeosang quipped back, noticing soon enough that he was about to zone out, “but I was thinking more along the lines of a disease I don’t wanna get.”

Wooyoung brought a hand to the left side of his chest, scrunching his face up in fake offense. Yeosang bit back the smile that threatened to show itself. The joke wasn’t even that funny.

“One day you’re gonna kill me, Kang Yeosang,” Wooyoung said, mocking an affronted tone. Yeosang wondered briefly how on earth Wooyoung would know his surname, only to realise he may have just read it off the papers in front of him, where he and San both wrote their names beforehand. “I can feel it in my bones.”

“Calcium deficient bones to you.”

This elicited a huff from Wooyoung this time, and if Yeosang hadn’t known any better, he would have thought he was genuinely upset. “I would say ‘ouch’ and stuff, but I kinda saw that one coming,” Wooyoung said.

Yeosang rolled his eyes, shifting his gaze down to the papers in front of him. “What are you doing here anyway? You’re, like, everywhere.”

“My afternoon class starts at 2, but since I had time to spare, I came here,” Wooyoung explained. His voice lost the tease it had just a moment ago, now replaced with a rather neutral tone.

Yeosang lifted a brow in curiosity. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the business and economics building a ten, fifteen minute walk from the engineering building?”

Wooyoung shrugged. “Yeah.”

“It’s 2:05.”

Wooyoung immediately dismounted the chair upon hearing the words come out of Yeosang’s mouth, positively shell shocked. Yeosang had to stifle the laugh that was on the tip of his tongue as Wooyoung hastily slung his backpack over his shoulder, uttering a hurried, “Oh, my God, Yeosang, I’m sorry my dude, but I gotta go— oh my _fuck_ ,” before he dashed out of the library. Only once Wooyoung completely disappeared from his line of sight did Yeosang chuckle under his breath.

“What’re you laughing at?” San asked, coming back into view. He was straining to hold at least three textbooks in his hands, but before Yeosang could stand up to help, San had already placed them on the table.

“Nothing,” Yeosang said, a little too dismissive. “You know when you think of something randomly funny and you just gotta laugh?”

San nodded enthusiastically, clearly having understood what he meant. “Well, I found these three textbooks. I had to wrestle for that one,” San pointed to the topmost textbook, “because all these other engineering kids were looking for the same thing as us.”

Yeosang hummed in understanding, not bothering to say anything further. Hongjoong returned within the next two minutes, explaining furiously how some of the toilets in the library were “as shitty as the shit that was in them”.

“Yeosangie,” San said as Hongjoong settled between them, now scrolling through his phone. “I think we should lessen the amount of times we go out now.”

“This thing is due next month, San,” Yeosang said.

San sighed. “I know, but—I think just to be safe, okay?”

Yeosang just gazed at San for a moment before he nodded. “Okay,” he agreed.

Hongjoong chuckled. “You two are so cute,” he said, smiling playfully. “You’re like children to me.”

San let out a huff of a laugh. “Yes, because a one year age gap definitely equates to us being children,” he retorted. “I wonder how Seonghwa-hyung deals with you. You’re annoying as all hell.”

“He tolerates me more than he actually deals with me,” Hongjoong said, a rather pensive look crossing his face before he rounded on Yeosang, a smile bringing his lips up. “Oh, but what did you and Wooyoung do at the carnival?”

“Excuse me?” said Yeosang.

“You heard me,” the elder intoned. “Neither of you said shit after we decided to leave for the dorms.”

“I feel like you’re implying that we did something illegal,” Yeosang said. He absently noticed his heartrate pick up its pace, and he had a feeling it had nothing to do with the interrogatory accusations that Hongjoong was throwing at him.

Hongjoong rolled his eyes with a scoff. “I mean, yeah, if that’s what you wanna think,” he quipped. “No. You were both carrying a shit ton of plushies. Did you guys raid all those kiosks or what?”

Yeosang stilled for a second before he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. He hadn’t expected _that_. “Something like that,” he bluffed.

San was then given a pointed look from Hongjoong, who furiously jabbed his finger in Yeosang’s direction. “See, San? This here boy is just as bad as me!” he said, the volume of his voice bordering on a shriek.

“At least he’s not open about it,” San said in a feeble attempt to shut Hongjoong up. Yeosang smiled. “Wait, but have you noticed? Wooyoung keeps on popping up out of nowhere nowadays. I could’ve sworn I’ve never seen the guy before.”

“Right?” Yeosang said too quickly, obtaining a curious look from Hongjoong. “The dude’s everywhere—I swear to God, I would’ve thought he was new if he wasn’t Yeonjun’s roommate.”

Hongjoong’s face contorted to that of confusion. He leaned in. “Wait, none of you have ever seen Wooyoung before?” he asked.

Yeosang and San both shook their heads in unison.

“Seriously?” Hongjoong said, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve known the guy since he was a freshman. Found him running away from a professor when he once submitted an essay late.”

Yeosang would have probably laughed had the situation been any different, but instead his brows creased in confusion. If he himself had never seen Wooyoung before, then how on earth did Hongjoong know him since freshman year?

“Really?” said San. Yeosang registered then through his little pout that San was just as bemused as he was. “I’ve never seen him. Like, at all.”

“Same,” Yeosang concurred.

“Damn, you really are my children,” said Hongjoong, a look on his face that made him seem as though he was struck by an epiphany. “Is this what it feels like showing your children one of their aunts that they’ve only met once before when they were a baby and are only reintroduced, like, fifteen years later?”

It took Yeosang longer than San to figure out whatever Hongjoong said. “I feel so sorry for Seonghwa-hyung,” San said, theatrically clutching at his heart. “Truly. Genuinely.”

“If only he was here to see you now,” Yeosang continued in a melodramatic tone, faking a saddened expression. “To see what you’ve become.”

Hongjoong gave them both a fake smile. “Jokes on you, he’s already with me. Just in spirit,” he said.

Yeosang made a show of looking even more let-down as he scoffed. San couldn’t help but erupt into laughter, his voice rising in pitch. Hongjoong only sat there, unapologetic as ever.

“I can feel him crying right now,” Hongjoong went on, his face shifting to a contemplative look. “Sobs shake his body as he realises that this, _this_ —,” he pointed to himself, “—is the man he’s been swapping spit with for over a year.”

“Okay, okay,” Yeosang said, gesticulating his hands in an attempt to calm Hongjoong down. “I think we’ve heard enough of your… speech.”

Hongjoong made a meek sound of affirmation, then reached into his backpack on the ground. San threw his pencil case at the elder upon seeing another roll of wrapped up kimbap in his hands.

♤ ♤ ♤

A soft sigh slipped past Yunho’s lips as he shut the door of his dorm behind him. He shot Mingi a bored look.

“Yunho-yah,” Mingi said then, falling into step with Yunho as they began to walk towards the library. “Have you noticed?”

It took Yunho effort to actually reply. He’d only gotten about four hours of sleep the night before, courtesy of the show he accidentally ended up binging just after dinner, so doing anything more than walking or breathing was a bit of a challenge. “Notice what?” he mumbled.

“Yeosang,” Mingi said, pausing momentarily. Yunho opened his mouth to ask him to expand, but Mingi beat him to it. “And Wooyoung.”

Yunho’s interest piqued at that, his head lifting up as he gazed curiously at Mingi. “What about them?”

Mingi shrugged dismissively. “At the carnival,” he said. “I have a serious feeling they raided half the kiosks. Wooyoung was holding, like, seven plushies.”

“That doesn’t explain what I should be noticing about them,” Yunho replied matter-of-factly. He didn’t get what Mingi was trying to say. “In case you forgot, I had to tend to Jongho, who had gone through puke expulsion just prior.”

“Puke expulsion,” Mingi echoed, throwing his head back in a laugh. “You make it sound like he’s got some sort of disease.” When Mingi calmed down and recollected his composure, he went on, “Anyways. I dunno. Yeosang and Wooyoung are always together. I could’ve sworn that Yeosang once said that black hair and buff was his type.”

Yunho could recall it—Yeosang had once gone at length about his type once when he’d gotten a little too drunk for his own good. Yunho knew that he was basing his observations on very superficial things (that may not even apply anymore), but he couldn’t help but agree with Mingi.

Yunho came to a halt just as the two of them stood before the open elevator. Mingi looked up at Yunho, confusion crossing his face. Before Mingi had any time to question him, Yunho broke into a sprint towards their dorm room.

Once he reached his destination, he unlocked the door and strode in. He quickly unzipped his bag and dug his hands through it before his palm grazed the glossy surface of his laptop. Without thinking twice, he laid the device on his bed. Mingi paced in a few seconds later.

“What are you _doing_?” Mingi demanded, bewilderment colouring his voice. “Yunho, we’re going to be late—”

Yunho didn’t bother giving him a verbal response, instead flashing him an impish smile, wrapping an arm around Mingi’s shoulders and guiding him out of the room. Yunho made sure to leave the door just slightly ajar—a hair’s breadth of space between it and the doorframe—to satisfy his plan.

“Whoa, wait—” Mingi pushed Yunho’s arm off him. “Yunho, you left the door open…”

Yunho grabbed Mingi back before he could reach the door. “Relax, Mingi,” he said, a playful inflection in his voice. “I know what I’m doing,” he added as he plucked his phone out of his pocket.

♤ ♤ ♤

“Come again?”

Yeosang just barely registered Yunho’s laugh on the other end of the line. He couldn’t fathom why on earth Yunho would be laughing in this situation, considering if Yeosang were in his shoes, he would most likely be in a state of shock. Yunho said, “I had to rush out of my dorm, Yeosang. I was so fast to leave that I forgot both my laptop and to close the door.”

“And you want me to… close your door?” Yeosang asked.

“For lack of a better way of saying it, yeah.”

Yeosang’s brows knitted in confusion as he stared at the footpath in front of him. He was standing just outside of the dormitory building, about to go out nearby the dorms to get some takeaway fried chicken because he couldn’t be arsed waiting for someone to deliver it to the dorm, and also because the fried chicken they served at the cafeteria wasn’t nearly as tasty as the ones stores down the street provided.

But upon Yunho’s request, he realised lunch could easily wait. It wasn’t as though he was going to do anything later on, anyway. His morning classes had already finished, and he had nothing better to do.

“Yeah, okay,” Yeosang said hesitantly. “I’ll… close your door.”

“Yay!” Yunho exclaimed, and Yeosang could practically feel Yunho’s happiness radiating from the phone. “Thank you so much! You’re a godsend, Yeosangie. Take care!”

The line cut off before Yeosang could even think of uttering his own goodbye. Befuddled more than he cared to admit, he changed routes, trudging back into the dormitory, unable to shake the strange sensation that seized hold of his head.

He couldn’t possibly imagine how on earth Yunho had forgotten to at least close his dorm door in his haste to get to class, let alone forget his laptop. Yeosang was well aware of the fact that Yunho had his faults when it came to punctuality, but it was never this bad, at least from the many recounts Yunho had shared with him in the past. He couldn’t get rid of the sensation of uncertainty he felt, even when he found himself on Yunho and Mingi’s floor.

True to his words, Yunho had left the door open. Upon seeing that it was actually half-open—not even just an inch of space between the door and its frame, but _actually_ half-open—Yeosang felt his stomach churn. He could only hope that he wouldn’t be walking in on someone orchestrating a robbery.

When Yeosang strode towards the door and pushed it open, the last thing he expected was for a figure to leap in front of him and go, “Boo!”

Yeosang blinked. It was Wooyoung.

“Wooyoung,” he started, closing the door behind him shut as he stepped in. “What are you doing here?”

The black haired boy just smiled at him, and just like last time, Yeosang took notice of how his cheeks slightly pushed up his eyes. Before, he had just acknowledged its existence on his face, but now, he felt as though he might have grown fond of the feature.

As he was doing with the rest of Wooyoung’s characteristics and habits.

“Yunho told me to get him his clipboard,” Wooyoung answered, now turning away to walk towards the desk next to the bed. “Couldn’t imagine why he would need a clipboard when he’s got a whole ass laptop to take notes on, but I see why.”

Wooyoung motioned towards Yunho’s laptop on the bed.

Yeosang’s brows drew together instinctively. That was severely unusual, because Yeosang had come to Yunho’s dorm to… close his door. He looked Wooyoung in the eyes then, and when the other boy didn’t question him, he asked, “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Why?”

The words were on the tip of his tongue—that Yunho had practically demanded that he close his door, lest a robbery take place. The excuse was there, except he couldn’t quite find the strength to get them out, because he realised in that moment something was wrong.

Surely he couldn’t have told both Yeosang and Wooyoung to come to the same place simultaneously because of an ulterior motive—? Yeosang wouldn’t put it past Yunho to pull off something like that, but yet...

Wooyoung laughed then, probably having noticed the inquisitive look on Yeosang’s face. “ _Oh_ , did you think that Yunho sent us both here so we’d actually have to, I dunno, talk?”

Yeosang found himself imperceptibly drawing his jacket around himself tighter because, yes, that’s what he thinks, but it wasn’t like he was about to actually admit that aloud. As brutally honest as he may have been, he still had some pride. Wooyoung laughed again, this time sitting down on the desk chair as his laughter came out in the form of his infamous hyena howls.

“I mean,” Yeosang tried, sitting down on the edge of the bed so that they were facing each other. “I wouldn’t put it past him. You know he’s the prankster type... kind of.”

“Right,” said Wooyoung, “but I’m a prankster too!” Here, he pouted a little, almost as if upset that Yeosang failed to acknowledge Wooyoung’s prowess in the thing. He found it kind of captivating, how Wooyoung wanted all this attention even though he was sure he got enough of it. Captivating how he pouted and went all petty whenever he realised that there were other people who actually deserved attention as well. “The cuter prankster,” he added as an afterthought. “I mean, Yunho is cute as well, but you know what I mean.”

Yeosang didn’t realise he was doing it until Wooyoung reciprocated the action, but he was smiling. Smiling because Wooyoung was his normal self. Wooyoung was... fascinating.

It was a moment before either of them spoke. It was Wooyoung who broke the silence. “I think I lost that first plushie we won at the carnival. The chick.”

Yeosang gave Wooyoung a hard look then, not entirely meaning it. “You lost it?” When Wooyoung nodded, he went on, “I wasted a good 8,000 won on that godforsaken plushie just for you to _lose_ it?”

“Hey, it’s not like you bought the plushie!” Wooyoung argued with a pout. “You just bought me more tries so that I could win it.”

“Same damn thing.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, swivelling around on the desk chair, head falling back as he relaxed. “I haven’t had lunch yet, and I would order pizza, but I’m broke. And I don’t have the facilities to make proper food.”

Yeosang shifted in his spot on the bed, noticing that Wooyoung had come closer to him now, still on the chair. He decided not to comment on it, lest he waste breath on something so pointless. Yeosang said, “If you want, I could order the pizza. I was planning on buying something anyway as well. I can’t cook either. At least, not for the reasons you gave, anyway.”

What Yeosang didn’t tell him was that he much preferred fried chicken over pizza, but he couldn’t find it in himself at that moment to deny whatever Wooyoung wanted. More than that, the words had already come out; the “damage” had already been done.

The other boy’s head perked up, eyes wide. “Seriously?” he asked. “You complain about wasting 8,000 won on me at the carnival but you’re willing to buy me—us—pizza?”

Yeosang shrugged. He still wanted fried chicken, but bit back the urge to tell Wooyoung that. “I can’t deny you food when you’re hungry. It’s a basic human right, is it not?” He was tempted to roll his eyes when Wooyoung kept giving him that dubious look. “Come on. Yunho can get his clipboard and laptop himself. There’s a cheap pizza place a couple blocks away from the dorms.”

There was obvious doubt on Wooyoung’s face, but not for long as he stood up and followed Yeosang to the door. Cautiously, Wooyoung asked, “You’re not luring me out to, like, some deserted place where you can finally fulfil your twisted BDSM fantasies on me, are you?”

“Not today, no.”

Wooyoung seemed to know he was joking, but faked being surprised anyway. Again, Yeosang had to fight off the urge to express his amusement in the situation.

Only half an hour had passed before the pair found themselves sitting on a patch of grass in a park near the dorms, already having received their pizza. They had gotten a margarita based on Wooyoung’s preferences, and while that option wasn’t exactly Yeosang’s favourite, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to care, let alone actually express his mild displeasure.

Now, in the park, Yeosang sat next to Wooyoung as the both of them faced the sun. The former was only half heartedly eating his portion of the pizza, but that didn’t seem to bother Wooyoung in the slightest, being on his fourth slice within approximately five minutes.

They ate in a relatively silent atmosphere before Wooyoung spoke. “You got any exes?”

The question took Yeosang by surprise, making him momentarily pausing chewing on the morsel in his mouth. He swallowed, answering, “Unless temporary high school relationships count, then no. Not really.”

Wooyoung waved a dismissive hand in front of his face. “Oh, they count. How many?”

“Like, two? They were those very temporary, ‘superficial’ relationships. They don’t really matter to me.” Yeosang shrugged. “What ‘bout you?”

“I broke up with Minhee just a month ago,” Wooyoung answered. Yeosang recalled Minhee being the girl he had broken his drone for. “She’s in the same year as us, just doing a different course... man, she was crazy.”

“Crazy?”

Wooyoung nodded. “She’s so... God. She...”

Yeosang noticed that his own voice was considerably softer when he said, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, I wanna tell you.” Wooyoung straightened up. “It’s just... I dunno. She was okay at the start—cute, funny. But then came a point where things got kind of draining. We lost the spark. I wanted to end things with her long before I actually did, but what drove me to actually end the relationship was when she made me do some things I didn’t wanna do. I won’t get into the specifics of that, but yeah.”

“That sounds… bad.”

“Oh, God.” Wooyoung let out an exasperated huff, as though even thinking about it made him annoyed and angry. Yeosang was instantly regretful of the words he had chosen, feeling like he hadn’t given much meaningful input. “It gets worse. I told her when I was breaking up with her that I figured out I was bisexual, and yeah, I knew that she was a bit prejudiced, but I didn’t think it would be to the point she would rant about it to her—admittedly _very_ openly homophobic—older brother.

“Her brother took my bisexuality personally, I think,” Wooyoung thought aloud, a faraway look on his face. “He’s actually kind of dangerous, I’ve noticed. He’s got these anger issues that I’m sure manifest in, like, destroying things and punching people.” His voice went down a bar in pitch and volume, as though he was sharing a secret with Yeosang. “Anyways. He somehow got my number from Minhee and, well, verbally harassed me, for lack of a better word. Got called all these names I didn’t think I would because I thought we’d moved on as a society, but clearly not.”

Yeosang was quiet. He felt a roil of emotions swell up in his chest, many of which he was sure were bad. He didn’t know how, why, what, or where it came from, but some part of his head wanted him to reach over whatever few inches lay between his and Wooyoung’s hand and hold it.

He had no idea what to reply with, either, and questioning Wooyoung further seemed rather impolite given the gravity of his words. But Yeosang didn’t need to ask, because Wooyoung continued. 

“She’s just crazy. And kinda mean too—when I asked her if I looked nice in this picture one day, she said no! I mean, yeah, I get it, some people think they’re edgy being brutally honest and all. But you know that thing where you send a selfie to someone for the sole purpose of wanting to be complimented? Well, yeah, she didn’t get that. She said she thought I wasn’t cute, and kinda meant it.”

“I think you’re cute.”

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could properly comprehend it happening. What was worse was Yeosang couldn’t just pull out the “ _I mean, if she wasn’t gonna tell you, I might_ ” card, because he, unlike Minhee, genuinely meant it.

Wooyoung stilled, giving Yeosang a wary look before he broke out into a smile, both sets of teeth bared as he laughed. “Ah, I know,” he said, putting a hand under his chin to emphasise his face.

Yeosang felt his heart clench—something it hadn’t done in a while.

“I mean...” Yeosang started in an attempt to calm down Wooyoung, only to purse his lips when he found that he couldn’t continue. He wanted to seem as though he wasn’t being serious just to keep the younger boy’s ego in check, but couldn’t get the words out. He truly did think Wooyoung was cute—more so now that he was taking pride in all these compliments. In a feeble attempt to let go of the topic, he haphazardly shoved the last of the pizza that was in his hand into his mouth.

And then Wooyoung was leaning in, using a thumb to wipe away the excess sauce that had found itself on the corners of Yeosang’s mouth. Yeosang knew very well from long ago that he was a messy eater—his friends did, too—but to be here now, with a cute guy getting up close and personal, _wiping away_ the evidence that he was, in fact, a messy eater, he felt a little overwhelmed.

“I think you’re cute, too,” Wooyoung said then, smiling brightly.

Yeosang couldn’t help the sensation that seized his chest. It was foreign and yet familiar in a strange way—if he’d felt this feeling before in his life, then he didn’t remember. It was tight, like someone’s fist had closed around his heart.

When Yeosang sequestered himself in his dorm room that night, he imagined his prairie. He imagined the mountains still there, the abnormal height of the grass at his feet. Sunflowers standing proudly from their stalks.

Everything seemed pretty and serene and normal like it always was, except for when he slowly turned around to see a familiar black haired boy standing a fair distance away from him on the field, smiling.


	5. the educated fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> San had to think about it for a moment. It was true that Yeosang was being affected more than he was in regards to Wooyoung being present becoming a common occurrence—but to what extent, he didn’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here](https://issuesintheworld.carrd.co/) is a carrd that links you to other carrds and websites that relate to current issues that need our help ! please use these to sign petitions, educate yourself, etc. 
> 
> just a little heads up that i don’t know much abt the seoul metro system. tbh i just looked at the map and tried to figure it out myself 
> 
> not quite sure how i feel abt this chapter, but here it is~

When Yeosang opened the door to his dorm room after having heard three curt knocks, the last people he expected were Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Both of them had impassive looks plastered on their faces. Hongjoong was holding two cups of instant ramen in his hands.

Yeosang tried a smile. “Hello—”

Hongjoong pushed past Yeosang and strode, rather angrily, towards the small microwave that San and Yeosang had put on one of their tallboy dressers. Yeosang looked to Seonghwa for some semblance of guidance, but the elder merely gave Yeosang a sympathetic smile.

“Our microwave fuckin’ broke,” Hongjoong asserted as he shoved both cups into the microwave. Yeosang figured that they had already filled the cups with water beforehand, seeing as how neither of them went anywhere near the bathroom—the closest tap they had. “Can you believe it? Can you believe it just fuckin’ decided to stop working on the one day I actually wanted to fuckin’ eat my ramen?” It was unclear who Hongjoong was specifically ranting to, but neither Yeosang nor Seonghwa decided to comment. “Now it’s just a hunk of metal in our apartment. Piece of horse shit.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes in the same moment the microwave sounded that it was done. “Don’t mind him. He, somehow, miraculously just obtained an attachment to our old microwave,” he said to Yeosang. “Where’s San?”

“He went out with Yunho and Mingi for a bit,” Yeosang responded in a mumble, then sat down on the bed where his laptop was open. He had been hoping to get some of the theory sections of his and San’s joined assignment done today, as well as unsubscribe from this one program he had signed up for back in high school. Yeosang didn’t have any sort of job—in all honesty, he still didn’t know what to put on a proper resume—but he figured clearing out his inbox would be the closest he could get to real adulthood, even if it was half-assed. But he would most likely have to put all that on hold, what with certain intruders raiding his microwave.

He heard Hongjoong scoff from where he poured his seasoning into his and Seonghwa’s ramen. “You’re the worst fuckin’ storyteller, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong stated. “You don’t know what me and that godforsaken microwave have been through. It warmed up my leftover pizza whenever you got lazy and decided you didn’t wanna cook! It cooked my ramen when I had nothing else to eat…”

Hongjoong launched into a prolonged spiel about how much that microwave had meant to him, very much contradictory to the previous disdainful tone he had used. Seonghwa could only nod along to whatever Hongjoong was saying, more focused on his own food than anything else.

Yeosang opened his laptop again. A cheap thing he had purchased at the start of the academic year, but as slow as it was, it still did whatever Yeosang needed it to do.

“Hey,” Seonghwa called, looking at Yeosang. “We could have gotten you some, but we only had two. Sorry.”

Hongjoong didn’t bother trying to finish whatever was in his mouth, uttering a muffled and sloppy, “Yeah, man... sorry.”

Yeosang went back to doing whatever he could on his laptop as his friends ate their food in silence, but he looked up at the two of them still eating once he had one email deleted. Hongjoong and Seonghwa really came here, all the way from their shared apartment to the college dorms just so that they could use Yeosang and San’s microwave. They were an old married couple, at best. Perhaps two out of the Three Stooges.

Seonghwa finished his ramen first, and took that as the opportunity to ask Yeosang something he wasn’t quite prepared for.

“What’s up with you and Wooyoung?”

Yeosang promptly stopped typing, eyes finding Seonghwa over the screen of his laptop. The elder merely stared back at him, a curious glint in his gaze. Nothing malicious or mischievous that Yeosang could recognise at first glance.

“What do you mean?” Yeosang asked.

Seonghwa shrugged. “I dunno. Didn’t you guys, like, hate each other for a bit? Wooyoung said he thought you hated him.”

Yeosang shrugged back, eyes falling back onto his screen. A light, airy feeling began to settle in his chest that he couldn’t quite give a name to. “I mean, yeah, I guess. He broke my most expensive drone.”

He couldn’t quite shake off the sense of guilt that had occupied his chest after uttering those words. He felt guilty, because reducing Wooyoung to that particular trait didn’t quite sit right with him. He felt guilty, because Wooyoung wasn’t just the guy who broke his most costly drone.

No, because for some miraculous reason, Yeosang felt that he was more than that, now.

A loud snort came from in front of Seonghwa, making Yeosang look up to see Hongjoong doubling over in a fit of laughter, half-muffled by his noodles in his mouth. Seonghwa threw one of his chopsticks at Hongjoong, Seonghwa subsequently earning himself a lolled out tongue and a middle finger from the latter. It was hard for Yeosang to hold in his amusement, soon bursting into a round of laughter himself.

By the time any of them had finished laughing, a series of thuds sounded across the room. Before Yeosang could get up, Seonghwa held up a hand to stop him before striding over to the door. Yeosang could only see half of his face from where he was sitting, but Seonghwa seeing the person behind the door made him look... amused.

Yeosang realised soon enough why, when Wooyoung marched into the room.

“Hiya, hyung,” Wooyoung greeted, giving Hongjoong a wave from where he was behind Seonghwa. “Where’s Yeosangie?”

Yeosang raised a hand in the air, and when Wooyoung turned to look at him, he felt like the wind was knocked out of him. The airy feeling that had occupied his chest before transformed into something tight, constricting. Yeosang smiled at Wooyoung. It felt… unusual, but more pleasant than that.

Wooyoung strode over to him, a hand coming out of his pocket. In his fingers was a ₩10,000 note.

“Your fare money,” Wooyoung explained, letting the note drop onto the laptop’s keyboard. “I didn’t know when or where else I could give it to you, but here you go.”

Yeosang had momentarily forgotten that Wooyoung would be back with his fare money, causing him to stare dubiously at the note before putting it on the bedside table next to him. He remembered—he would have to take the subway tomorrow morning. “Thank you,” he replied.

Wooyoung gave him a small smile. He looked as normal as he always did—an oversized coat hanging loosely over his shoulders and his hair styled back into his signature swoop—and yet Yeosang thought he didn’t look half bad… like this.

“Hongjoong-ah,” Seonghwa said, beckoning Hongjoong over to the door. “It’s time we leave, hm?”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened. He looked incredulous. “Say fuckin’ what? I haven’t even finished half my ramen?”

Seonghwa didn’t concern himself with further arguing with Hongjoong, instead grabbing Hongjoong’s wrist and beginning to drag him out of the door. Seonghwa muttered a hurried goodbye to both Wooyoung and Yeosang, waving. Hongjoong let out an aborted grunt, still stuffing noodles into his mouth, but also, somehow, managed to close the door behind him as he went.

Yeosang met Wooyoung’s gaze when the latter threw a concerned look towards him, no doubt wondering what was going on with Seonghwa and Hongjoong. To Yeosang’s happiness, he was blissfully clueless. Yeosang shrugged.

Wooyoung sat down on the bed then, directly opposite Yeosang. “Hi,” he said, smirking.

Yeosang kept his eyes down. “Hi,” he replied shyly.

Wooyoung leaned in as close as he could, looking down onto the laptop screen. Yeosang got a full view of the crown of Wooyoung’s head. “What are you doing?” Wooyoung asked.

Out of instinct, Yeosang used a finger to poke Wooyoung’s head away so that he wasn’t in his immediate space, but felt his breath get caught in his throat when Wooyoung’s head shot up to look at him, and he realised that _holy fuck_ their faces were only an inch apart.

Something swirled around in his gut, making his heart stutter. Yeosang leaned back a little out of habit, but they were still closer to each other than they had ever been. If Wooyoung leaned in a little more, their noses would most likely bump.

“I was cleaning out my inbox,” Yeosang said in a mumble, clearing his throat when he felt the thick feeling in his voice. He schooled his face so as to look impassive, except he wasn’t quite sure it worked. Then, feeling like he should add something, “Yeah.”

A sigh came out of Wooyoung’s mouth, and Yeosang could only watch the way a somewhat disappointed-but-not-surprised look fell on Wooyoung’s face. Like he was evaluating whether it was truly worthwhile even sparing a glance at Yeosang.

Yeosang felt the urge to push Wooyoung away again, but before he could even properly lift his hand, Wooyoung cupped Yeosang’s cheek with his own hand.

All was silent for a tense moment. Yeosang wanted to move, perhaps push Wooyoung away again, but he could only look ahead, where the other’s eyes were. The tight feeling in his chest seemed to only intensify as the seconds went on and Wooyoung was still there, _right in front of him_ with his hand on his cheek and if Yeosang leaned in a bit more, he could—

“Yeosangie,” Wooyoung crooned softly.

The words failed to come out at first, but when he cleared his throat again, Yeosang said, “What?”

“Please,” he said, lightly grazing a thumb over the curve of Yeosang’s cheek. “Get a life.”

_Get a life._

Yeosang barely suppressed the scoff on the tip of his tongue, abruptly pushing Wooyoung’s hand away and then lightly kicking Wooyoung on the thigh. The other boy only laughed, head falling back. Yeosang rolled his eyes, closed his laptop, having to force himself not to laugh with Wooyoung. As much as he loathed to admit it, his laughter was contagious.

Yeosang was tempted to think out of instinct why Wooyoung was even here in the first place, before he remembered that Wooyoung had given him his fare money. Then he remembered why he was giving him his fare money in the first place.

His eyes flitted over to the box that drone had once sat in, all the way on the other side of the room.

“Where’s San?” asked Wooyoung, breaking Yeosang away from his train of thought. “I could’ve sworn the guy’s, like, attached to your hip or something.”

Yeosang shook his head. “He went out with Yunho and Mingi to do something.”

Wooyoung gave him a single nod. It was in that moment Yeosang found his eyes glued to his face. He could see that Wooyoung was wearing just the tiniest bit of eyeshadow, with just a hint of lip gloss.

“You going out somewhere?” Yeosang asked, unable to stop himself.

The statement seemed to snap Wooyoung out of something; he sat up ramrod straight and gave Yeosang a panicked look. “Oh God, I’m not even supposed to be here,” he said, before quickly standing up.

“What?” Yeosang closed his laptop. “You have a date or something?”

“What? _No_ ,” Wooyoung replied, throwing a disbelieving look in Yeosang’s direction. He stalked over to the door in the same moment it was pushed open in his face, revealing three people on the other side. Wooyoung quickly looked towards Yeosang still sitting on the bed. “I have some economics forum thingy and I’m late by—” here, he paused to look at the time on his phone “— _twenty_ minutes—oh God—”

Wooyoung didn’t bother with a farewell, instead pushing past San, Yunho and Mingi and disappearing from sight.

Mingi was the first person to react, pointing a hesitant finger towards the door and asking, “What was that?”

“You mean ‘who’?” San snickered. “That’s Wooyoung and Yeosang has a big fat crush on him.”

Yeosang only gave Mingi the driest look he could pull up, shaking his head slowly. San only laughed again, clutching onto Yunho for stability.

“What was he even doing here?” Yunho asked, now lying down on Yeosang’s bed and snuggling up next to him. San soon followed, throwing himself over Yeosang’s legs. Mingi subsequently threw himself on top of San. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s Yeonjun’s roommate, not yours.”

Yeosang did his best to fake dismissal, waving a hand in the air that very easily said ‘ _forget about it_ ’, then actually said, “He was just stopping by. Seonghwa- and Hongjoong-hyung did, too.”

The three of them all collectively made noises of comprehension before dissolving into a topic related to how many dumplings Mingi really ate one time they all had a competition, and Yeosang found himself only barely listening. His eyes were drawn to the ₩10,000 note on the bedside table beside him.

He realised, a little belatedly, that Wooyoung would _not_ be leaving him alone anytime soon.

♤ ♤ ♤

“Jongho, stop.”

San’s request fell on deaf ears, because Jongho only subtly (but not-so-subtly) kept on taking pictures of Mingi. Mingi didn’t seem to mind, an obvious look on his face that clearly said he was all but basking in this attention.

“Jongho-yah, you’re never gonna get work done like this,” San tried. “Seriously, stop.”

Jongho didn’t reply, instead retaliated by snapping a picture of San.

San huffed and clutched his pen tightly in his hand, nearly standing up from the surge of annoyance that shot through him. “Jongho, _stop_ , or so God help me I will sodomise you with this pen—”

“Okay, _okay_ —I’ll stop,” Jongho said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. San knew he wasn’t actually sorry; it was too obvious from the smirk on Jongho’s face. “Hyung, I thought you of all people would know the reason I do this.”

A sigh escaped San as he gave Jongho a quelling look. He would never fully understand why Yeosang and Jongho took pictures of their friends at odd angles and distances and would caption it ‘political propaganda’, but it wasn’t like he actually opposed it. He _couldn’t_ , because even as strange as it was, he himself found it kind of funny.

What San knew for a fact was that Yeosang and Jongho ‘taking weird pictures of their friends and captioning it “ _political propaganda_ ”’ was just a euphemism for producing blackmail material. That much was painfully obvious.

“You brought Mingi and I all the way out here to this sketchy library to help you study, and here you are, trying to create blackmail material,” San said, rubbing a hand over his face in exhaustion. He caught Mingi snickering from the corner of his eye. San threw the pen at him. “You’re not helping!”

Mingi skilfully caught the pen in his hand, grinning toothily at San. Twirling the pen between his fingers, he said, “Sannie, you _know_ you’re never gonna get through his head. Plus, just look at the stuff he’s doing—” He gestured to Jongho’s work in front of him. “It’s just advanced maths. And it’s not even his major. Easy marks, dude. Hey, look.” Mingi pointed to an equation on the paper in front of him, then dragged his finger downwards to the solution below it. “That answer is right, I know it. I’ll eat toilet paper if it’s wrong.”

“You’ll eat toilet paper anyway,” San said.

“Shut up,” Mingi bit back.

“Just because I’m right?” San gave him a petty pout, which earned him a single dry look from Mingi before both of them burst out laughing.

“Hyung,” Jongho said, looking at San. He wore an expression of innocence, but San saw right through him. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at maths, too? You do engineering…”

San’s face fell. He was _not_ being serious.

“Jongho, shut up—you’re, like, two minutes old.” San’s hands were itching to hit something. “I hope you know that if murder wasn’t a sin or crime, you would’ve been dead a long time ago.”

Jongho let out a loud, sarcastic laugh that echoed throughout the library. Not many people were here, so no one bothered to spare Jongho a glance. San speculated anyone who was here couldn’t even really hear him, because they were either really far away or wearing headphones. San, however, only snatched the pen from Mingi’s hand and pointed it threateningly in the general direction of Jongho.

“Hyung, it’s okay,” Jongho assured San in an attempt to calm him down. San only scoffed. “If I encounter any problems, I’ll ask you.”

San aggressively gestured to Mingi. “Then why the hell is _he_ here?” he asked, disgruntled.

Mingi feigned being hurt, gasping and clutching at his chest as if he’d been physically struck there. “You’re gonna be the death of me one day, Sannie,” he stated dramatically. “God, I can even see it—you cruelly stabbing me with all your mean words…”

“You should have just asked Yeosang to come, he’s more patient than me,” San said indignantly, now directing his attention to the youngest. “Though, now that I think about it, he’s probably cooped up in the dorm sorting out through his inbox or out with Wooyoung.”

“Wooyoung-hyung?” Jongho lifted a brow. “What’s up with him and Yeosang-hyung? I swear Yeosang-hyung wanted to kill him at one point.”

Mingi sighed. “That was before he developed a crush on him,” he explained, waving a hand in dismissal. “It’s what happens.”

Jongho looked over at San. “What do you think about that, hyung? Yeosang-hyung being the least romantic person in the world but getting a crush on the guy who he supposedly wanted to commit hate crimes on? Do you ‘approve’?”

San had to think about it for a moment. It was true that Yeosang was being affected more than he was in regards to Wooyoung being present becoming a common occurrence—but to what extent, he didn’t know.

“I dunno,” San said casually, shrugging. “Yeosang doesn’t seem to have changed that much. He’s just as confused as I am about how Wooyoung didn’t even exist a month ago and how he’s suddenly inserting himself in any and every situation—maybe even more… man, I dunno. It’s all weird.”

He couldn’t quite find it in himself to shake off the feeling that he got whenever he thought about Wooyoung and Yeosang. He felt a lot more dubious about Wooyoung’s presence than how much he let on, because it simply didn’t seem realistic enough that someone would just pop in and out of nowhere in their lives, unwarranted and uninvited, but also stay.

Wooyoung was enigmatic, but not in the way San would have probably wanted him to be. That was to say, he still found Wooyoung’s presence rather strange, despite being friends with him.

Mingi speaking brought San out of his reverie. “I’d never seen him until, like, two months ago when Yunho introduced him to me. Said how Yeonjun didn’t bother to talk about his roommate because he wasn’t worth talking about. Wooyoung took it half-personally and stuff, so that’s why he’s hanging out with us now. Well, he didn’t _actually_ take it personally, but you get what I mean. No, wait—listen. The guy was tryna prove a point. _That’s_ what I mean.”

He was trying to prove a point. That’s the only reason Wooyoung was even really friends with them, San realised, somewhat bitterly.

Jongho gave a nod of understanding while San raised a brow. “That sounds really suspicious,” said San. “The guy didn’t have any friends before us?”

Mingi gave San a one-shouldered shrug. “That, I don’t know. You’d have to ask him, but I reckon he did. The guy’s hella extroverted, so he most likely had a few friends.” He stretched in his seat then, putting his arms in the air, high enough that his shirt rode up the slightest bit. “Point is, Wooyoung is our friend now. And supposedly Yeosang’s future boyfriend.”

“Don’t we know it,” San mumbled with a roll of the eyes. He yawned and patted Jongho on the back. “Wrap up, kiddo. Freshman year isn’t as big as you think it is.”

In true Jongho fashion, he muttered, “Neither is your dick but you don’t see me complaining…”

San shot him a pointed look. “That pen is _right_ there.”

♤ ♤ ♤

Yeosang wondered as he got on the subway exactly how long Wooyoung would be paying for his weekly fares.

He knew for a fact that he couldn’t just mooch off his parents’ money and that their trust fund would only last so long. The thought was why he put his ass to work and just got done handing out his (admittedly very half-assed) resume to potential workplaces around the metropolitan area. It was awkward at the very least—it had to take him numerous half-finished sentences and several failed attempts at eye contact to realise how little he interacted with people that weren’t his friends.

Yeosang thought about it for a while, then also realised that, should he end up being hired, he would be able to pay his own fare money. That would mean Wooyoung technically would have no proper reason to hang around Yeosang.

It felt a little odd, but he had to admit it to himself—even if he didn’t quite want to—that he was growing rather fond of Wooyoung’s presence. He no longer seemed like the superficially attractive asshat that Yeosang thought he was. No, he was a normal human being, now. His friend.

It’s been a week since he and Wooyoung have interacted at all, which also made Yeosang come to understand that he didn’t have any other way to contact him other than to see him in real life. He had tried at some point to figure out what his social media handles could be, but after a solid half an hour of scouring the internet, he gave up. The sudden conclusion made him a little bitter for an unnamed reason, but he figured he would probably get over it. He ended up doing so with everything else, anyway.

The realisation also reminded him of his transport fare money. He still had about a few thousand won from lack of use this week, so he’d probably be able to take the subway for a few more days before the amount of money he had on the card reached the negatives.

The subway wasn’t as empty as he would have liked when he stepped into the carriage, but he could tolerate the few people around him. It was quiet, save for the one man talking on the phone at a medium level and the cloyingly bright voice of the lady on the speakers announcing which station was next. Yeosang had his headphones in, just barely able to make out the sounds around him through the music.

He was two stops into his train ride when his phone rang. He frowned upon seeing the ‘No Caller ID’ label at the top, and waited until it rang out.

Out of instinct, he looked around him. Everyone else around him was on their phone or simply looking out the window or into the space in front of them. Yeosang sighed quietly to himself before resuming his activities on his phone, only to frown when the ‘No Caller ID’ person rang again.

He figured that whoever was calling him most likely wouldn’t stop unless he picked up, even though it was only the second time they were calling him. Though it took him a significant amount of effort to do so, he swiped and answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Ah, so Yunho _didn’t_ give me the wrong number.”

Yeosang immediately put some distance between his ear and the phone, then wanted to laugh out of disbelief upon hearing Wooyoung’s loud voice. “Wooyoung?”

“Yes, it’s me, Wooyoung. You’re Yeosang, right? Unless I’m completely wrong and you’re a stranger and you just sound incredibly similar to the guy I’m thinking of…”

He had to resist a smile, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I doubt there’s anyone else you know that just _happens_ to sound incredibly similar to me,” said Yeosang.

“You have a point,” Wooyoung said, his voice teetering on a laugh. Yeosang could practically feel Wooyoung’s smile from wherever he was. “I was just gonna call you to see if I had the right number and then end it, but now that you’re actually here, I don’t think I will. What are you doing?”

Yeosang blinked. It was surprising just how many times Wooyoung struck Yeosang damn near speechless anytime he did something remotely normal. Normal, like that was still an option. “Reducing my carbon footprint,” he replied. “You?”

He heard Wooyoung chuckle from the other end of the line. “Taking the train, huh? What station are you at?”

“Just left Yangjae Station, I’m on Line 3. Why? Are you on this same train?” Yeosang hazarded another glimpse at the people around him in the carriage. None of them were Wooyoung.

“Oh, cool! I’m at Jamwon, I think I can catch the train you’re on. You’re going to the dorms, right?”

Yeosang emitted a soft noise in confirmation. He could dimly feel his heart pick up its pace.

“Oh, that’s _so_ cool! D’you happen to know what carriage you’re on?” Wooyoung asked.

Yeosang had to put in effort to recall it, but he remembered how, more often than not, he would go to the carriage closest to the one the driver was in. “Try the second carriage from the driver,” he mumbled.

“All right,” Wooyoung chirped. “Okay, Yeosang, I’ll see you soon, hm? Bye!”

“Bye,” Yeosang said, before Wooyoung hung up.

Yeosang knew very well that as soon as they cut the call and he saved Wooyoung’s number on his phone that he wouldn’t be focused on his phone anymore, and it proved to be true. Instead of killing time by playing games on his phone he didn’t even quite like, he ardently stared at the thin screen that displayed which train station was next, counting down the number of stops as they went. Very few people were entering the carriage as the number of stops decreased, and Yeosang subconsciously hoped no one would take the empty spot next to him.

Once the train stopped at Jamwon, Yeosang’s eyes went to the two doors on the side of the carriage the other passengers would get on. Only one person entered the carriage, and it was Wooyoung.

Wooyoung flashed Yeosang a small grin. Yeosang couldn’t fight off the contagiousness of Wooyoung’s smile, reciprocating as the latter sat down next to him. Yeosang scuttled over a few inches to give Wooyoung some space.

“You’re really everywhere, huh?” said Wooyoung.

Yeosang had to physically fight off the urge to laugh at the irony of the statement, pursing his lips. “I could say the same about you,” he replied. “Really.”

Wooyoung nodded in understanding, something like a knowing smile on his face as he settled close to him and put his forearm on Yeosang’s shoulder. Yeosang swallowed. Their faces weren’t even all that close, but _shit_ , was it hard to maintain eye contact.

“What were you doing just before all by yourself?” Wooyoung asked in a murmur, eyes trained on Yeosang.

Something twitched in Yeosang’s chest. He wanted to tell Wooyoung the truth, tell him about his day and all the little details that spanned from this morning until now, but he held his tongue. “Just out and about,” he answered vaguely, looking at his feet on the ground. “Had to go to the post office and pick up some of the things San and I ordered for our assignment.”

That wasn’t a complete lie—he _did_ actually go to the post office for that reason. Except he’d just done all that yesterday.

“That’s cool,” Wooyoung replied. “Engineering sounds so practical. So time consuming.”

“And economics isn’t?”

“Oh, it’s not all that practical, but _God_ is it time consuming. It’s so content heavy.” Wooyoung shuddered, as though the mere thought of economics sent a round of uneasiness through him. “I just went around giving out my resume to some retailers that were hiring.” He sent Yeosang a sly smile. “Now I might actually have spare money to pay for your weekly fares.”

The words were right on the tip of Yeosang’s tongue, more than ready to tell Wooyoung “ _I went to give out my resume too!_ ” but Yeosang bit that sentence back, too. Instead, he said, “Really? Good on you. I hope you get whatever job you want.” Before Wooyoung could reply, Yeosang shrugged his arm off his shoulder. “Not.”

Wooyoung’s expression went sour, a frown marring his brows. “Why?”

“It goes completely against what I’ve told you to do,” Yeosang explained in a tone that made it seem as though the answer was obvious. “You’re not meant to use money from exterior sources. The whole point of the punishment is for you to suffer.”

“ _Oh_.” Wooyoung rolled his eyes, huffing out a scoff. “You have a point, but what’re you gonna do when I get a job and can pay the weekly fares of all of Seoul, hm? _Hm_?”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow and tauntingly shoved his face towards Yeosang’s, warranting the attention of the one middle-aged lady that was in front of him. Yeosang made eye contact with the woman and forced a polite smile as he shoved Wooyoung’s face back with his hands. Wooyoung grunted and smacked Yeosang on the arm.

“Bold of you to assume you’ll even get a job,” Yeosang retorted as the train pulled up to their station. He stood up, as did a few of the other commuters. “Come on, it’s our station.”

Wooyoung jutted his lip out in a pout before standing up, not missing his opportunity to shove Yeosang out of the train when the doors opened. Yeosang stumbled onto the platform, just barely able to catch himself instead of tripping, hearing Wooyoung’s high-pitched laughter behind him.

Despite his heart hammering in his chest from the sudden panic he’d been struck with, he managed to shoot Wooyoung the most expressionless expression he could physically muster. Wooyoung only laughed harder, doubling over as he clutched his stomach.

“Oh, God,” Wooyoung wheezed after regaining his composure. “You’re, like, the next best person to annoy after Seonghwa-hyung.”

Yeosang pressed out a sardonic smile as he pushed past Wooyoung and made for the escalators. He distantly heard Wooyoung’s footsteps behind him, quickly breaking into a run in an attempt to keep up with him.

They reached the ticket gates, where Yeosang found that, after that trip just then, he was now dangerously close to touching the negatives on his transport card. He didn’t bother to relay the information to Wooyoung, who only scanned his own card with indifference to his own fare money.

He felt something like a tug in his chest. If Yeosang did end up getting a job, then he would have to tell Wooyoung and he wouldn’t have to pay for Yeosang’s weekly transport fare anymore, just to be fair. Once again, it partially meant that he and Yeosang would have no real reason to exclusively be together. It was, after all, Yeosang thought, the only thing connecting the two of them, after the fact that they shared mutual friends.

Once they exited the station, they were met with a chilly wind, completely different to the warmth they’d felt in the train, courtesy of its built in heaters. Yeosang found himself drawing his jacket closer around himself, and when he snuck a glance at Wooyoung through the limits of his peripheral vision, he saw him doing the same.

Before Yeosang could do so much as take a step towards the bus stop, Wooyoung cooed, “Yeosangie...”

Yeosang turned his head towards him, giving him a questioning look.

“Get food with me,” Wooyoung replied. Yeosang saw the corners of Wooyoung’s eyes crinkle up as he grinned. Yeosang was barely given enough time to process Wooyoung’s words before he was being tugged by Wooyoung towards the closest outdoor standup shop that sold a variety of hot food. “It’s cold, and I want hot food. Oh, _come on_ , don’t look at me like that! Don’t worry—I can pay!”

Yeosang was suddenly in front of a wide selection of food. The heat emanating off the ovens behind the counter was like a balm to his skin, a type of warmth that seemed to melt away an invisible layer of ice that’d been moulded around him. He momentarily forgot about Wooyoung next to him, and only came back to reality when the other boy tugged at his sleeve.

“Should I get tteokbokki? Or maybe hotteok? What do you think, Yeosangie?”

Wooyoung was still holding Yeosang’s sleeve. Yeosang made no attempt at pushing Wooyoung away.

Yeosang used his free hand to point to the hotteok on the side of the stand. Wooyoung seemed happy with Yeosang’s answer, a delighted grin taking over his face as he pulled Yeosang to the front and asked the woman behind the counter if they could have two servings of hotteok. Yeosang tried to talk over Wooyoung and cancel his part of the order, only to keep his mouth shut at the silencing look Wooyoung gave him.

The pair left the stand with steaming pieces of hotteok in their hands. Though he didn’t bother with a verbal admission, Yeosang was grateful for the small amount of warmth he got from the food in the blistering cold that was surrounding them.

Yeosang finished his hotteok before Wooyoung did, but Wooyoung still managed to speak through his bites. “Y’know, we’re always wasting money on each other. First the karaoke room, then the carnival, then the pizza…”

Yeosang sighed, a gust of cold air misting in front of his mouth. “I think it’s fair. I dunno. Something to keep your interests up during these horrid times we call studying for midterms.”

Wooyoung groaned. “I _know_ , right? God, I knew midterms in second year were gonna be considerably worse, but not this bad! I wanna puke just thinking about it.”

A memory came to the forefront of Yeosang’s mind, then. “Hongjoong-hyung tells me that the first time he met you was when you were running away from a professor because you submitted an essay in late,” he said.

Wooyoung nearly halted in his steps, a nonplussed expression falling onto his face. He recollected himself soon enough, muttering, “Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that.”

Wooyoung floundered, not quite knowing what to say for a moment. “Well, the only explanation I can give you is that I literally just handed it in late and the professor gave me this honest-to-God _murderous_ look and I, uh, bolted.”

Noticing the embarrassment Wooyoung felt, Yeosang’s face was dominated by a wry smile. “Really? And how exactly did Hongjoong-hyung react to that?”

Instead of being given a proper answer, Yeosang’s mouth was abruptly being filled with hotteok, and it took him a little over a second to realise that Wooyoung had just fed him.

“Damn, Yeosangie. You know why my nose looks good and yours doesn’t? ‘Cause I don’t go sticking it around in other people’s businesses!”

Yeosang rolled his eyes, chewing whatever pieces of hotteok were in his mouth as they both stood before their bus stop. When Yeosang checked the time, he was happy to find that their bus was only two minutes away. To his elation, when the bus arrived, it was heated as well.

Wooyoung seemed to have preferences as well when it came to seating arrangements in public transport, because before Yeosang could even properly look around to see which seats were empty, Wooyoung grabbed his wrist and sat them both down on two joint seats, Wooyoung being next to the window. No other passengers got on, so the bus drove on.

“I dunno ‘bout you,” Wooyoung said, “but I _hate_ these buses. There’s always rubbish everywhere, all day, everyday. And there’s always this weird as shit group of high schoolers that get on on Tuesday afternoons and they’re so goddamned _loud_ , oh my God.” Wooyoung glanced at Yeosang. “Please tell me you hate this bus too.”

Yeosang settled in place, propping his elbow on the armrest attached to his seat. “I don’t take this bus too often, but yeah. I don’t like it either.”

That was one truth he would be able to tell without any consequences.

A relieved sigh came out of Wooyoung’s mouth. “Also, that hotteok was great. Dunno ‘bout you but I am _definitely_ coming back.”

“You’d be wasting whatever fare money you’ve reserved for me,” Yeosang commented absently, drumming his fingers against the armrest.

“There you go again, sticking your nose in other people’s businesses,” Wooyoung responded. He shook his head, feigning disappointment.

Yeosang flicked him on the thigh.

Wooyoung muffled a laugh behind his hand. “I’m just kidding,” he said through pursed lips. “I don’t actually think your nose looks bad.”

Yeosang gave Wooyoung a contemplative look before he smiled, knowing. He didn’t quite understand what it was, but when his hand slid over and intertwined his and Wooyoung’s fingers together, Yeosang didn’t stop himself.

It took Wooyoung only a few seconds to respond, holding his hand back as he smiled at Yeosang.

It took Yeosang longer to realise what he’d actually done, ears reddening at the tips as he slowly retracted his hand, settling it on his lap instead. 

However, Wooyoung didn’t seem to share his sentiments on that one, promptly grabbing Yeosang’s hand back as he clasped it, marginally tighter than before. “No, let’s hold hands,” Wooyoung protested. “Just for a little longer… please?”

Wooyoung was giving him _those_ eyes. Unable to resist—not that he would have—Yeosang relaxed his hand where it was holding Wooyoung’s. “Clingy much?” Yeosang asked playfully, his voice coming out in the form of a murmur.

Wooyoung sighed as he snuggled closer to Yeosang, putting their conjoined hands between their legs as he pressed his cheek to Yeosang’s shoulder, resting his head on it.

His chest did that thing again—a tight clench as if his heart was being held. Yeosang felt a little overwhelmed.

“You just gotta accept the fact that I’m clingy. You signed up for this, so this is what you’re gonna get,” Wooyoung said, something close to petulance colouring his voice.

Yeosang didn’t remember ever ‘signing up’ for anything, but he didn’t think he minded.


	6. send me an angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeosang didn’t know what to do with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here](https://junkterrorbillnow.carrd.co/#) is a carrd on how you can help with the terror bill that’s being passed on in the philippines, it also has resources where you can educate yourself on the matter if you haven’t already !! 
> 
> [these pictures](https://twitter.com/jiminlfled/status/1279622788672655360?s=21) are part of the vibes for this chapter 
> 
> also [send me an angel by scorpions](https://open.spotify.com/track/1bKQ48M9onID2kbSpRy8kK?si=nGgH2tdXSeaS8tQopK2RfQ) on repeat this entire chapter . just do it, you’ll know what i’m talking about

It was similar to the last time Yeosang imagined it. The only thing different was, instead of being far away from him—the only thing separating them being the sunflowers and unkempt grass—Wooyoung was closer to Yeosang now.

Yeosang was sitting against the cottage, just gazing out at what he could see of the prairie from his vantage point before he put Wooyoung into the picture. This time, Wooyoung was standing somewhere near him. Not quite within arm’s reach, but not out of sight, either.

Wooyoung strode over to one of the fallen sunflowers and carefully picked it up. Clutching it between his fingers, he brought it over to Yeosang, placing it down next to his outstretched legs.

Yeosang looked up at Wooyoung, something mocking seeping into his grin, before he focused back on the sunflower. The petals were nearly intact, and they weren’t brown on the edges like the others. This one had just fallen, it seemed.

Yeosang used one of his legs to push the sunflower away, pressing his foot to the stem of it. Wooyoung only chuckled before he picked it up again, but this time he playfully shoved the head of the sunflower to Yeosang’s face.

The earthy smell of the sunflower invaded his senses, and Yeosang protested by pushing Wooyoung’s hand away. Wooyoung merely laughed again, and it wasn’t long before Yeosang felt himself smile, too.

When Yeosang rubbed his eyes with his rolled up fingers, he was back in his dorm, lying down on his bed. Yeosang’s eyes were drawn to the ceiling. He turned on his side, when his eyes caught sight of the small digital clock on the nightstand. It was well past midnight and, when he squinted and saw the date, Yeosang realised it had been a week since he last saw Wooyoung.

He brought his gaze upwards, where he found San looking back at him through half-lidded eyes where he was lying down on his own bed. The younger boy smiled at him through his sleepy stupor, and Yeosang returned the gesture.

Yeosang drew his blanket tighter around his body. He didn’t know what to do with himself.

♤ ♤ ♤

San settled the laptop between his and Yeosang’s laps, then proceeded to throw his blanket over their legs, muttering, “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let some cold ass weather seize hold of _me_.”

Yeosang laughed, scrolling through the wide selection of movies on screen. It was their movie night that the two of them would hold every fortnight (or at the very least, whenever they could), and it’d been a while since either of them watched a horror movie. San watched as Yeosang changed the filter by genre, being sure to specifically click anything along the lines of ‘Horror’ or ‘Thriller’ or, the one genre San didn’t particularly like, ‘Psychological Thriller’.

“Can we please not watch Hannibal’s prequel?” San requested. The first time they’d watched anything from the Hannibal series he’d gotten honest-to-God nightmares, and Yeosang relishing in his misery didn’t quite help as much he hoped it would. “You know I got about two hours of sleep every night for, like, two weeks after that.”

Yeosang seemed to remember that, smiling as he recalled the memory. “And that you slept in my bed with me for that first week?” San swatted Yeosang’s arm when he laughed at the pout on his face. “I dunno, San. It’s kinda hard to forget.”

“Just pick a movie,” San said with a bitter tone, but snuggled against Yeosang anyway.

Yeosang sighed and continued scrolling until he found a movie that caught his eye. It was a standard horror movie judging by the cover, with a more standard plot, but according to the numerous reviews, it was a good film. With that basis, San moved Yeosang’s hand away and pressed play himself, using that opportunity to quickly get comfortable, letting Yeosang rest his cheek atop San’s head.

If the synopsis hadn’t already given them enough to work off of, the actual movie was just as standard as the others they had watched. San had seen this narrative many times, but still found himself holding Yeosang tighter whenever it looked as though a jumpscare would happen within the next minute.

San’s eyes flitted towards the light switch on the other side of the room. It was probably a better idea to keep the lights on for San’s sake, but on Yeosang’s insistence, they turned it off. San nestled closer to Yeosang when ominous music started playing from the laptop’s speakers.

San knew, intrinsically, that Yeosang would cater to his needs, should he ever need to, and that didn’t only apply to his distaste for horror movies. The thought put a smile on his face for a fleeting moment.

Halfway into the movie, San heard one of their phones buzz with a notification. San looked over to his right, where they’d placed their phones on the bedside table. Upon seeing that it was Yeosang’s screen that glowed in the dark, he picked it up and handed it to him.

Yeosang nodded in gratitude before he read the notification without actually opening the phone. San read, through squinted eyes, that the sender of the text had said “ _This reminded me of you_ ” with an attachment he couldn’t quite make out. He asked, “Who’s that?”

Yeosang quickly responded to the sender, fingers moving too fast for San to figure out what he could have been typing. Yeosang cautiously reached over to put the phone back on the table, but San simply took it out of his hands and placed it back for him.

“It was Wooyoung,” said Yeosang, a faint smile on his face. “Nothing important.”

“Wooyoung, huh?” San’s mouth pulled up in a wry grin. “I dunno, Yeosangie. You’ve been hanging around the guy more than me. Doesn’t seem like ‘nothing important’ to me.”

Yeosang flicked him on the thigh, eliciting an instinctive “ _Ouch_!” from San. “Don’t you know it,” Yeosang said. “It’s really nothing. Just a meme.”

“That’s some real shit coming out of your mouth. Like, diarrhoea kinda shit.”

That earned San another flick, this time on the forearm. San merely flinched, but was able to contain his groan of displeasure.

“Yeosang-ah,” San said, poking Yeosang’s cheek playfully. “There’s literally nothing more obnoxious than you denying the fact that there’s something going on between you and Wooyoung. Honestly, you’re lucky it’s just me here. You and I both know for a fact that Jongho would probably blackmail you into telling him all the details. Hongjoong-hyung would probably stare at you until you caved.”

Yeosang huffed, but San caught the twitch of his lips. “Please. Now you and I both know there’s no way I could date anyone, let alone Wooyoung. The guy’s annoying as hell.”

“I remember you telling me you had a kink related to that.”

Before Yeosang could even think of flicking San again, the latter quickly made sure to pinch Yeosang’s cheek and laugh, then pressed play from where they’d paused. Though, he wished he hadn’t paused in the first place, because that would mean the jumpscare that came up the second he resumed the movie would have already played while they’d been talking. Flinching from what he saw, San held onto Yeosang tighter, arms looping around Yeosang’s.

“I dunno, San,” Yeosang mumbled. San looked up at him. His eyes were on the screen, but San knew he wasn’t really watching the movie. “I thought he was a bit dodgy at first, but he’s nice now. Like, a genuinely nice person.”

“Really?” San looked away from Yeosang’s face, eyes falling onto the laptop’s keyboard. “How do you know?”

Yeosang shrugged one of his shoulders, the one that San wasn’t leaning on. “After the carnival, we were at the train station and he gave all his prize money to a homeless woman. Happily, too. It was nice.”

San hummed in acknowledgement. “That’s nice,” he said quietly. “Like, he’s a loud person, but he’s nice. Good balance.”

Yeosang laughed lowly. “You’re loud, too, San.” Then his hand moved to the keyboard to skip a scene that he knew neither San nor he would want to see. “Although, you shouldn’t let Wooyoung know that. He’d probably throw a fit and say that _he’s_ the louder one.”

San stifled a laugh, then said, “Wow. So you really know a lot about him, huh?”

“Not a lot, per se,” Yeosang defended. San didn’t have to look at him to know that he was smiling. “But I guess more than you. Or Mingi and Jongho and the rest of them.”

San cooed in awe, then pinched Yeosang’s cheek again, this time prolonging the action so as to get a proper reaction out of him. Yeosang only grimaced. “Oh that’s _so_ cute! Have you guys gone out on a date yet? Please tell me you have—you two would make the cutest couple!”

“Leave me alone,” Yeosang whined, trying to push San off him, to no avail. “Come on, that’s enough Wooyoung talk. Let’s finish the movie.”

Yeosang shifted a little so that he was slouching, which gave San more room to snuggle up closer to him. “Well, whatever you do,” said San, “you know I’m happy for you, yeah? I’d support you and all that.”

Yeosang emitted a small sound of understanding. “I know. I’d do the same for you.”

“Naw, look at you getting all affectionate. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Yeosang said. San couldn’t help the big grin that took over his face.

♤ ♤ ♤

Yeosang didn’t understand why or how he kept on ending up in these sorts of situations. Surely, once or twice wouldn’t have been too bad, but constantly being told to act as a personal courier for no particular reason was a bit suspicious, in his opinion.

He didn’t know why he was supplying this large cardboard box, the contents of which he had no idea about, to Yeonjun’s dorm room at the beginning of the evening. He also didn’t understand why on earth Yeonjun couldn’t come and pick up the box from their dorm himself, but he’d been told by a very adamant San that they ‘should be nice and do the job for him’. Yeosang had tried to rebut, but he figured that he’d find out why Yeonjun couldn’t make it in the first place once he got to his dorm.

San had also told him that Yeosang should be the one carrying things more, simply because he was stronger than San in terms of heavy lifting. But most of all, he had no earthly idea why or how _San_ had obtained _Yeonjun’s_ parcel, but he did. Yeosang supposed it would continue to remain a mystery to him, despite his efforts to wrack his brain to try and construct a reason as to why.

But for now, he would have to haul this absurdly heavy box to Yeonjun’s dorm. Or at least, for the next five minutes, considering the elevator oh-so-conveniently managed to become out of order the one time he would have preferred to use it over the stairs. Yeonjun’s dorm room was on the fifth floor, whereas Yeosang and San’s dorm was on the third, which he guessed was good. At least he didn’t have to give the box over to Yunho or Mingi, who lived on the seventh floor.

Upon approaching Yeonjun’s door, Yeosang didn’t bother trying to carry the box anymore. Once he stood directly in front of the door, he dropped the box down carefully, letting out his held-in breath in a sigh before he, rather indignantly, knocked thrice.

The door swayed open, Yeonjun standing at the threshold. He gave Yeosang a small smile upon seeing him, an action Yeosang just barely reciprocated through the breathlessness he was experiencing.

“Is that for me?” Yeonjun asked, hunkering down to pick the box up.

“Yeah,” Yeosang replied. He blew out a breath, looking down at his feet. His legs burned, and for a fleeting moment he wondered if he should skip leg day this week. “San told me to bring it over to you guys instead of you coming over and getting it yourself, out of the good of his heart.”

Yeonjun laughed and picked up the box. Yeosang tried his best to look like he wasn’t assessing him, but he noticed through what he could see that Yeonjun wasn’t suffering from any visible impediments. No broken leg, no broken arm. If he had any interior problems, like a sore throat, then that wasn’t noticeable, either. 

Yeosang contemplated how Yeonjun could have easily done the job himself, but after recalling the hell that his legs had gone through going up those flights of stairs, he abandoned the thought. He knew for a fact that he was probably overreacting, but he wouldn’t have wished that type of physical torture on anyone, let alone Yeonjun.

“Well, thank you,” Yeonjun said, flashing Yeosang a wide grin.

Yeosang smiled back. “Right. Well, I’ll see you ‘round, Yeonjun.”

“Oh, my God—Yeosangie?”

Yeosang’s stomach promptly dropped to his knees upon hearing Wooyoung’s voice.

From behind Yeonjun’s shoulder, a mop of black hair popped up. Wooyoung caught Yeosang’s eye, grinning from ear to ear.

“Hi, Wooyoung,” Yeosang said, waving.

Yeonjun got the hint fast enough, smirking before he moved out of the way, allowing Yeosang a good view of Wooyoung. He was clad in just about the comfiest outfit he’d seen him in; a sweatshirt paired with sweatpants. Wooyoung’s hair was just slightly wet, indicating that he’d most likely just gotten out of the shower.

Wooyoung being Yeonjun’s roommate had completely gone over Yeosang’s head. He found that rather odd, considering that that’s how Wooyoung had been introduced to Yeosang in the first place: as ‘Yeonjun’s roommate.’

“It’s good that you came,” Wooyoung said, flashing him a toothy smile. “I actually have your fare money.”

Before Yeosang could even think about something to reply with, Wooyoung had shoved a note in his hand. Pocketing it without further thought, Yeosang said, “Thanks, Wooyoung.”

“What are you doing here?” Wooyoung asked. “And why are you—,” he paused to give Yeosang a once-over, “—dressed up?”

Yeosang didn’t understand how his current attire—just one of the very few standardly good outfits he bothered wearing to lectures—was worth being called ‘dressed up’. But he gave Wooyoung a one shouldered shrug, regardless. “I just came back from class,” he explained. “And San just told me to drop that off.” He gestured vaguely behind Wooyoung, where Yeonjun was putting the box on top of a bed.

Wooyoung gave a nod of understanding, before he perked up, eyes slightly widening as a thought struck him. “Oh, are you free, like, right now?” he asked Yeosang.

Yeosang was taken aback by the question, and he made it obvious by the way he didn’t respond to Wooyoung for a good five seconds. He floundered for words, before finally saying, “Uh, yeah. I mean, I wasn’t gonna do anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”

A playful smile made its way onto Wooyoung’s face. “Well, I was just asking, ‘cause I wanna take you somewhere,” he said.

Yeosang blinked once. “What?” he said, even though he’d heard him perfectly the first time.

It could have been a trick of the light or Yeosang may have just blinked again, but he thought he saw a nervous look cross Wooyoung’s face. “I wanna take you somewhere,” Wooyoung repeated. Yeosang saw him shift his weight from one leg to the other. “Just the two of us. We could probably get dinner too? Maybe if where we’re going has restaurants. I dunno. Only if you want.”

Yeosang thought about it briefly. It was true that he didn’t have anything else to do after this, but how exactly did he end up in such a situation where he’d be occupied directly after he thought he wouldn’t need to do anything? It left him astonished for just a moment, before he eventually made up his mind. “I’ll go with you,” he decided. “Where are we going?”

A little smile pulled Wooyoung’s mouth up. “Just somewhere. It’s a bit far away, but nowhere we can’t go by train.”

That didn’t quite help Yeosang at all, but at least they were going somewhere within Seoul’s (rather large, but still technically limited) metro map. “Do you know the name of the place?” Yeosang asked. Maybe he’d been to the station before, or at least knew of it.

Wooyoung shook his head, and his smile only seemed to widen. “Just wait for me while I get changed. Maybe head to the front entrance? I’ll be five minutes, tops.”

Wooyoung closed the door on Yeosang. It took him a moment to gather himself before he headed for the stairs, smiling despite himself.

Wooyoung did end up taking five minutes—maybe even less, considering Yeosang didn’t bother to check the time—and when he came down he was fortunately wearing a jacket. It was going to be cold out today, as expected of a December evening.

The train station was heated by the vents, as well as the body heat of the surrounding cluster of people. Wooyoung explained as they weaved through the small group of people around the station that they would have to take a different sort of train to get to their destination.

“You mean, like, those regional trains?” Yeosang asked.

“Yeah, basically,” Wooyoung clarified. He hooked an arm around Yeosang’s, guiding him towards their designated platform. Yeosang absentmindedly noticed how far away this platform was from his usual one he would normally take to go to his lectures. It was foreign, deviating from something he was so familiar with, but nothing that made him feel uneasy. Not as long as Wooyoung was here.

They got onto one of the different looking trains, one of the ones Yeosang knew one would have to take to get to any rural part of Seoul. The interior was significantly more comfortable, providing more sitting room—the pair were fortunate enough to get seats, despite that peak hour was approaching. It was more modern looking than the trains he normally took to get around the city, and Yeosang wondered how this design—objectively better looking—ended up being the ones regional trains got.

San texted him around ten minutes into the ride, asking him where he was. Yeosang quickly typed his reply, fast enough that Wooyoung didn’t notice, telling San that he was out with Wooyoung and that he’d be back soon.

“Once we get off, we’re gonna have to walk a bit. Not that much,” Wooyoung added when he saw the look Yeosang gave him. “Just a little. Like a five minute walk. Come on, Yeosangie, you can walk.”

“I know I can walk,” Yeosang said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “But are you sure you know the way?” A memory came to the forefront of Yeosang’s mind then. “Oh, God. What if this is just your way of luring me out to satisfy _your_ twisted BDSM fantasies?”

The question brought out a wide smile from Wooyoung, who threw his head back in a laugh. “No—you and I both know I’m not cool enough to pull off something like that. Not that anything about that is _cool_ —I’m just saying…”

Yeosang smiled in spite of himself and took Wooyoung’s hand in his own. It was warm. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You don’t have to justify yourself. San taught me some taekwondo once. I know how to defend myself, should you try anything.”

Wooyoung scoffed, tugging his hand away. Yeosang only grabbed it back, grinning from ear to ear.

They reached their station in only thirty or so minutes, as expected of high-speed rail. Yeosang had only taken regional trains once before, but that’d been years ago, too long ago for him to remember what the experience was like. It was certainly different, considering he was older, provided with actual toilets and going with the guy he liked, but he didn’t have any reason to prefer it over the normal metro in the city.

Once they got off and exited the station, Wooyoung spotted another hot food kiosk and, rather happily, tugged Yeosang towards it. Upon Wooyoung’s insistence, they purchased both hotteok and tteokbokki. They were about to leave the joint when Yeosang suddenly spotted another kiosk that sold fried chicken.

“What?” Wooyoung asked, concern crossing his face.

Yeosang didn’t say anything, simply pointing to the fried chicken that was being handed out to a small group of what he assumed were teenagers.

Wooyoung didn’t need to be told anymore, immediately understanding what Yeosang wanted. He smiled and pulled him towards it, where they purchased a rather large box of fried chicken. They had barely just left the kiosk when Yeosang dug in, tearing away at a drumstick.

Wooyoung chuckled at him. “Oh, lord, if I’d known you liked fried chicken this much, I’d have bought you much more of it in the past.” Yeosang didn’t bother with a response, instead emphasising his point by starting on another piece of chicken. “Ah…”

Wooyoung’s hand came up to wipe at the seasoning that clung to the corner of Yeosang’s mouth. Yeosang stopped chewing so that Wooyoung could do his job, and when he finished, he gave Wooyoung a cheeky smile. Wooyoung returned the gesture, reaching his hand into the bucket and snagging a piece of chicken for himself.

Wooyoung led them through one of the footpaths that branched off from the food stalls attached to the train station. The surrounding town was pretty nondescript, but it was deserted and quiet, and Yeosang was inadvertently happy for that. Despite him being used to bustling city life, he preferred the quietness and tranquility of towns much like the one they were in now.

About halfway into the walk, they were straying away from the buildings and nearing a more deserted part of the town. The air was colder here, but the fried chicken still in his arms was warm enough to keep Yeosang still walking.

“I have a feeling you don’t know the way,” Yeosang commented absently.

“What? I _do_ too! Don’t you trust me?” Wooyoung asked, pouting.

“I do,” said Yeosang. “Just a little less when it comes to going around places.”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Wooyoung whined. “I’ve never given you a reason to not trust me with navigation. I mean, yeah, I pushed you out of a train, but that’s barely anything, right? And—oh, would you look at that? Our destination just happens to be right in front of us?” Wooyoung shot Yeosang a haughty look. “Okay, Yeosang, tell me—do you remember us encountering any disturbances in our journey here? Do you?”

“It was a five minute walk.”

“ _Do you_?”

Yeosang took a small piece of meat from the chicken he was eating and shoved it into Wooyoung’s mouth, effectively shutting him up. Then, he looked up.

They were in front of a barren field, and beyond that, there were hills that were small enough that they could probably run up and down on, should they choose to. There wasn’t any sign of life, other than a few birds perched on a few faraway trees. The sun hung somewhere in the sky just behind the hills.

Yeosang thought it looked incredibly similar to the landscape he’d just conjured in his head, and he looked to Wooyoung with a doubtful expression. Wooyoung was only staring ahead, and turned his head when he noticed Yeosang staring at him. Wooyoung smiled.

“What do you think?” Wooyoung asked innocently. Yeosang simply continued to stare at him, dumbfounded. “You know how I met Hongjoong after running away from my professor? I came here right afterwards. Y’know, just to get my mind off things.”

It took Yeosang a moment to respond. “Seriously?” he said, voice coming out a little more high pitched than he would have liked.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung answered, then took Yeosang’s hand in his and led them towards the field. It felt weird, because the grass wasn’t as tall as the one in Yeosang’s imagination, only coming up to about halfway up his calf. That, and there were no sunflowers. “I’ve only come here about, what, four times? Five? I dunno, but I like this place. It’s quiet. Sometimes I just buy some tteokbokki or pizza and just come here and eat. Listen to music sometimes, too.”

Wooyoung went on until they sat down, the black haired boy tugging Yeosang down to sit next to him. Yeosang did, but not before quickly scanning the dry grass to see if there were any visible bugs that could possibly crawl up him and into his food.

“You sure you just came here… on impulse?” Yeosang asked. His voice still came out a pitch higher than normal, but he couldn’t do anything to control it. 

There was no way that Wooyoung could have known about a goddamned imaginary place that Yeosang just had thought up and brought him here out of consideration. He refused to believe it.

“Completely on impulse,” Wooyoung answered. Yeosang noticed how blissfully unaware Wooyoung was of Yeosang’s sudden change in this tone, and he was grateful. He didn’t think he would be able to explain how he felt, and why he was feeling the way he did. “I usually come here alone, but I dunno. I feel like you’d be the kinda person to like this place.” Wooyoung looked at the side of his face. “You _do_ like this place… right?”

Yeosang felt himself being bewildered a second time because, while he’d been confused the first time as to how Wooyoung could have possibly known a place like this, he was also overwhelmed with happiness to be here. He’d always told himself that the kind of place he kept on imagining in his head didn’t exist, but, well, here he was.

“Yeah, of course I do,” Yeosang replied, letting out all his pent-up breath in a sigh. He turned so that he was facing Wooyoung, and the latter did the same. Now they were sitting directly opposite each other, cross-legged, knees just barely touching. “I didn’t think—I just… I don’t know…”

Wooyoung stifled a laugh. “Okay, I’ll take that.” He scooped up some tteokbokki with his chopsticks and brought it up to Yeosang’s mouth. “Open wide~”

Yeosang quickly finished up the chicken that was in his mouth before he opened up and let Wooyoung feed him. The action made a smile light up Wooyoung’s face.

“I don’t know how you trust yourself with something like that,” Yeosang said. “I mean, just coming here. How’d you end up finding your way back the first time? Did you get lost?”

“No, but I did have to stop a few times to remember which way I came from so I wouldn’t have to get lost. Just what anyone else with _good navigation skills_ would do, right?”

Yeosang gave him a flat look, tempted to throw the last piece of chicken in his hands at Wooyoung. The younger seemed to enjoy Yeosang’s temporary misery, mouth widening into a roguish grin.

Yeosang was quick to recover, placing his elbows on his knees as he finished off his chicken. He asked, “Well, do you know anyone here? Made any friends?”

Wooyoung leaned in too, settling his elbows on his own knees. When Yeosang looked up, he was staring right into his eyes. Yeosang’s chest went taut, once again. Their faces were only an inch apart.

“No,” said Wooyoung, eyes looking down. Yeosang was thankful for that for a moment; it would just mean that he wouldn’t have to suffer those godforsaken heart palpitations whenever he made such close eye contact with Wooyoung. “I mean, unless those ladies at the kiosk count. They know me from my previous visits here because I order the same thing every time. Didn’t you hear them reciting my order just then? Three servings of hotteok and two servings of tteokbokki...”

Yeosang could see everything from here, from the crown of Wooyoung’s head to his collarbone. Unthinkingly, he noticed how Wooyoung’s eyelids weren’t even. One of his eyes had a monolid, while the other had a double. It made one of his eyes look a little bigger than the other, but in a unique, pretty way. Yeosang thought it was cute.

Then he thought about what Wooyoung said. That food kiosk was directly next to the station, no doubt getting business from the many train commuters that passed it. Yeosang found it a little odd that the ladies at the kiosk remembered him (and even his order), but then again, it was hard to forget someone like Wooyoung.

Or at least, that’s what Yeosang thought.

“Do you think you could make more friends?” Yeosang murmured. He felt a little out of breath.

“Hmm. I dunno.” Wooyoung fiddled around with some leftover sauce in his tteokbokki cup. “There’s this group of kids that hang around the station sometime during the evening. Maybe if we’re early, we can see them.”

“Maybe,” Yeosang said.

“Maybe,” Wooyoung echoed. He looked up, making direct eye contact with Yeosang.

Yeosang thought he could have choked.

Wooyoung blinked once, sporting a small smile before he leaned in, pressing his lips to Yeosang’s.

It was very brief—lasting a grand total of three seconds—but it left Yeosang damn near trembling in breathlessness. Wooyoung was still smiling at him.

Yeosang could only stare at him, dumbstruck to the bone. Did he really just do that? Did Wooyoung just—?

At Yeosang’s silence, Wooyoung’s face fell. In almost an instant he began to look uncomfortable, shifting glances around the area near them, avoiding any and every opportunity to look at Yeosang.

Before Wooyoung could worry any more, Yeosang promptly put away the bucket in his lap and brought a hand up to Wooyoung’s shirt collar, tugging until their lips met once more.

Contrary to the discomfort Wooyoung showed just seconds before, he didn’t seem to feel it in this moment. Yeosang could feel Wooyoung smile into the kiss, easily bringing a hand onto Yeosang’s knee as he leaned in a little more. Yeosang’s hand moved up so that it was holding Wooyoung’s face, his palm on his cheek.

The kiss lasted at best ten seconds—it wasn’t Yeosang’s intention to count the time that passed, but he did it anyway—and it was when Yeosang started feeling that weird, tight sensation in his chest intensify tenfold that he pulled away. Yeosang looked at Wooyoung with half-lidded eyes, a lazy smile on his face.

“Let’s go home, Wooyoungie,” he said.

Wooyoung seemed to be fighting off a smirk (that eventually made its way onto his face) as he grabbed a fistful of Yeosang’s shirt, pulling him in for another kiss. “Okay,” Wooyoung murmured against his lips.

♤ ♤ ♤

The train ride back was spent side by side on the seats they just barely managed to take, holding hands and gazing out of the window into the evening sky. Much of it was Yeosang seeing how many times he could sneak a kiss on Wooyoung’s cheek, catching the latter off guard. Wooyoung happily accepted the affectionate gestures, sometimes even kissing him back.

The train station back in the city wasn’t as crowded as Yeosang thought it would be, which meant that they’d just been successful enough at avoiding peak time. Wooyoung held Yeosang’s hand as they filtered out of the concourse into the busy streets. Their hands remained like that, even when they boarded the bus and arrived at the dorms.

Wooyoung quietly told Yeosang that Yeonjun would most likely be asleep by the time they arrived at their dorm room, and with that basis, Yeosang let Wooyoung drag him up the stairs to his dorm. Wooyoung was still holding Yeosang’s hand, but he didn’t mind.

When they opened the door to Wooyoung and Yeonjun’s dorm room, true to Wooyoung’s word, Yeonjun was fast asleep, face buried in his pillow. Yeosang saw Wooyoung stifle a laugh before he walked over and readjusted his roommate’s head, lest he suffocate himself.

“I always have to do that from time to time,” Wooyoung said, gazing fondly at Yeonjun. “He’s always sleeping in these weird as hell positions.”

Yeosang nodded in understanding. “San’s always doing that, too. Maybe not completely suffocating himself,” he gestured vaguely to Yeonjun, “but he’s always kicking off his blanket on cold days.”

Wooyoung giggled, and it took everything in Yeosang not to tackle him to the ground in a hug.

Yeosang then took his time to properly inspect the dorm room. The interior was the same as his and San’s, being on the same side of the building, just on different floors. The only things different were what Wooyoung and Yeonjun had used to decorate the room with. Yeosang had been inside Yeonjun’s dorm once, but that was when Wooyoung hadn’t been present. When he didn’t even know Wooyoung existed.

“Our room is pretty, right?” Wooyoung said, cocking a brow up, a proud look on his face. “Like me.”

Yeosang gave the room another once over, then said, “Yeah, but it’s messy.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Please. As if yours isn’t just as messy.” He sat on his bed and motioned for Yeosang to sit next to him. Yeosang did.

“Right,” said Yeosang. He recalled the past hour in his head, then sighed. “I’m sorry, but just—we have to go back to that town. That’s gotta be some of the best fried chicken I’ve had in a long time.”

A laugh bubbled out of Wooyoung. When he sobered himself up, he murmured, “Okay, I’ll take you back.” Wooyoung wrapped his arms around Yeosang and dragged him down so that they were lying down on the bed on their sides, facing each other. Yeosang was overwhelmed by the proximity at first, but when he saw Wooyoung’s easy smile, he relaxed a little. “We can go anytime you like.”

Yeosang smiled at Wooyoung. The grin on Wooyoung’s face only seemed to grow, more so when he pulled Yeosang in to press his lips to his. But just as Yeosang was about to pull Wooyoung closer to him, his hand already on his waist, Wooyoung promptly pushed them apart, a palm on Yeosang’s chest.

“Wait,” Wooyoung said.

Yeosang’s brows creased. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You can’t stay over tonight,” Wooyoung explained, voice lowered a pitch. “I don’t know how Yeonjun would feel if he woke up randomly and, like, you were here. I mean, he could probably be okay with it, but I don’t wanna take any risks. I don’t wanna sexile him just yet.”

Yeosang let out a huff of a laugh. “I don’t know what made you think that I wanted to stay over in the first place, but okay.”

Wooyoung’s face fell into a pout. “Come on, you know that’s not what I meant…”

A sigh slipped past Yeosang’s mouth. He pushed himself up, leaning all his upper body weight on his arm as he gazed down at Wooyoung, who was still lying down on the bed. “Well, if that’s the case, then I guess I’ll take my leave,” he said.

He was about to stand up, only to bounce back onto the bed when Wooyoung seized hold of his arm and dragged him down. Wooyoung was giving him those eyes again, the same ones he’d given him when he, more or less, begged to borrow Yeosang’s drone. Yeosang had to bite back the urge to tell Wooyoung how cute he looked.

“ _No_ ,” Wooyoung whined. “That wasn’t a cue for you to leave, you know that…”

“Then what was it?”

Wooyoung then grabbed Yeosang’s hand, quickly intertwining their fingers before Yeosang could even think of snatching his hand back. “Just stay with me a bit longer. Please?”

Yeosang eyed their joined hands. He thought it was a little odd how easily their hands slotted together, but nothing that made him feel uncomfortable. If anything, the thought made him feel the exact opposite.

“Fine,” Yeosang agreed.

Wooyoung seemed to light up at Yeosang’s decision, wasting no time in bringing their bodies together, wrapping his arms around Yeosang’s torso as he inserted himself so that his head was directly under Yeosang’s chin. Yeosang put one arm around Wooyoung’s waist while the other came up so that it was on the back of Wooyoung’s head, stroking the hairs at his nape. Wooyoung felt warm.

“Okay, but are we just going to ignore the fact that regional trains look significantly better than normal metro trains?” Wooyoung mumbled into the part of Yeosang’s neck his nose was nuzzled in. It tickled a little, and Yeosang had to hold onto Wooyoung tighter so that he didn’t accidentally twitch.

“No, I agree,” Yeosang said. “How did the people who frequent trains more end up with the shittier looking ones? God, it smells like shit, too. I can never get a break.”

Wooyoung nodded his head, before his eyes caught something behind Yeosang. He frowned a little before he reached over Yeosang and held something in his hand. In the dim lighting, it took Yeosang a little while to realise that it was a red yo-yo.

“Hm, I didn’t even notice that there,” Wooyoung mused, playing with it in one hand and dangling it above their heads. Yeosang watched it suspended in the air by a thick string, eyes following the red plastic as it moved up and down. “Maybe it’s Yeonjun’s, but hell if I know why he’s got one. He’s always collecting random things. Wait. _Oh_. Oh, my God.”

Yeosang looked at Wooyoung from the corner of his eye. “What?”

Wooyoung looked like he was struck by an epiphany. He directed his gaze to Yeosang. “Yo-yo.”

Yeosang waited for Wooyoung to go on, but when he didn’t, he repeated, “What?”

“Yeo-Yeo.”

It took a moment for the name to kick in, and once it did, Yeosang didn’t wait, already giving Wooyoung the blandest look he could hope to convey, shaking his head vigorously.

“Oh, come on!” Wooyoung dangled the yo-yo directly over Yeosang’s head, making sure it touched his cheek every few turns. Yeosang grimaced. “That’s _so_ cute! Can I call you that? Please?”

“The day I let you call me that is the day hell freezes over,” Yeosang replied in a flat tone. He pushed at Wooyoung’s chest so that there was a small, but still distinct amount of space between their bodies.

“Please? Come on, Yeosangie, it’s so adorable!” Wooyoung said, quickly grabbing Yeosang’s face in his hands. Yeosang scowled through what little power he had in that stance as Wooyoung squeezed his cheeks with his palms, laughing. “A cute little Yeo-Yeo.”

“No. _No_. Never call me that.”

Wooyoung giggled heartily before he moved forward and pressed a rather sloppy kiss on Yeosang’s cheek. “Yeo-Yeo,” he said fondly.

“Your entire life is garbage.”

“You already know I’m never gonna stop.”

“Yeah.”

♤ ♤ ♤

It was just them now, and Yeosang may have felt guilty, perhaps even a little crazy about imagining such a scenario in his head, but he couldn’t help himself. It was just them, sitting in the middle of the prairie. It was just them, Yeosang looking directly at Wooyoung as the latter rid a sunflower of its seeds, distractedly picking at them one by one. It was just them, the sun shining brightly down on the pair, and Yeosang noticed how the sunlight was making Wooyoung glow. It was just them, Wooyoung being his unapologetic self while Yeosang fondly moved the bangs out of Wooyoung’s eyes when the wind came in a little too hard. It was just them now, in the midst of mountains and an abundance of sunflowers.


	7. any colour you like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “C’mon, dude. You know you were never gonna win this bet,” Hongjoong quipped. 
> 
> Seonghwa looked mortified. “You made a _bet_ on them?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m super sorry for the delay on this chapter! school started again for me, and i just had absolutely no time to edit or write anything ._.

“Mingi, that’s _so_ ugly. Mingi, no.”

Mingi pouted petulantly at San, who gave him a disapproving look. They were meant to be going to the charity event they volunteered for, not window shopping. “Come _on_ ,” Mingi whined. “It doesn’t even look half bad.” He made a small gesture towards the startlingly fluorescent, hideous looking jacket he’d ogled at.

“Please,” San said, looping his arm around Mingi’s before dragging him away. “You and I both know Yunho would probably kick you out of the dorm if you bought that piece of garbage.”

A huff slipped past Mingi’s lips. “Yeah, maybe,” he agreed in a sullen tone. “But at least he’d ask me why I’d considered getting it and actually bother to understand my point of view, unlike you—jumping to conclusions and shit.”

“Not like you could actually get the jacket,” San rebutted as they manoeuvred their way around the large cluster of people crossing the crosswalk. “You’re broke as hell, according to Yunho.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mingi rolled his eyes. “I’m smarter than you, though—remember that multiplication and division game we played, like, week ago? When I _won_? Yeah, which means I’m more likely to get a job—,” he paused to glower playfully at San, “—which also means I can get that jacket. _Many_ of those jackets.”

San flicked Mingi on the temple, having to go up on his tiptoes to reach it. Luckily, Mingi didn’t bother to tease him about it. “You big baby. Come on, we’re here,” San said, breaking into a sprint towards the area where the charity event was being hosted, holding Mingi’s hand as he went along.

San and Mingi had volunteered to help serve the food around the charity event to those that attended, and they were lucky enough to be even recruited into that section, given that the majority of volunteers put their name down for the job. They made them wear these fluorescent vests with different to indicate what type of volunteers they were, and San had to bite back a comment on how startlingly similar the vest was to the jacket Mingi had set his eyes on just prior.

“Yunho wouldn’t be able to say no to that jacket,” Mingi said then, flicking away a tiny speck of food that had landed on his vest. “I mean, if I bought that jacket multiple times. I think if I was persistent enough, he’d let it go.”

“Hm,” San said, picking up two boxes of food. “How is Yunho, by the way? I feel like I haven’t talked to him in ages.”

“You saw him two days ago.”

“Okay. What about it?”

Mingi sighed. “He’s good. Going strong, I think, considering he was all but crying this time last year about midterms.”

“Good for him,” San said absently.

“And what about Yeosang? How’s he doing?”

San thought about it. He recollected his memories back to a few days ago, when Yeosang had come back to the dorms at a later time than usual. Yeosang had told him that he’d be back soon when he was asked when he’d return, but obviously, that didn’t turn out to be the case. Yeosang had also said that he’d simply been out running errands, but San wasn’t stupid, and it didn’t take a scientist to figure out what was going on. He knew Yeosang was out and about doing… other things. Or at least, not quite ‘running errands’.

“He’s good, too,” San answered. He noticed how his voice had suddenly gone a little lower in volume and pitch, but paid it little mind. Mingi didn’t seem to notice. “I think he’s been hanging around Wooyoung a lot lately.”

“You noticed that, too?” Mingi asked. San nodded once. “Yeah, Yeosang and Wooyoung have been hanging out a lot. I could’ve sworn Yeosang wanted to, like, tear him apart, limb from limb. At one point, that is.”

San barely stifled the snicker that threatened to escape him. “I feel like we’ve had this conversation before. But did he really tell you that?”

“Not verbatim,” Mingi replied, smiling. “But he sure as hell looked like he’d do it. You know him, death-glaring anyone who so much as slams their books down in the library.”

“I know.”

“Yeosang is scarier than we give him credit for. If there’s anyone who can effortlessly make you feel bad about your existence, it’s him.”

The laugh bubbled out of San’s throat before he could stop himself, warranting the attention of a few other volunteers. San sobered himself up quick enough, before saying, “Hm, yeah. That sounds like Yeosang. Wait, but how do _you_ know he didn’t like him at first?”

Mingi shrugged indifferently. “We went to karaoke once. You knew about that, right? Me, Yunho, Yeosang and Wooyoung. I mean, Wooyoung wasn’t even supposed to come, we just happened to bump into each other at the station. Anyways, Yunho saw him and invited him to karaoke, and he said yes. Yeosang didn’t explicitly say it, but he was pissed, to say the least—y’know, ‘cause he’d been planning that karaoke day for a while and everything. I can only imagine his ‘fervent, _raging_ anger’ when he realised that one person he didn’t like wanted to come to karaoke with him and his friends.”

San emitted a sound of affirmation, nodding. “I get that,” San said, but he didn’t really. He’d always known that Yeosang didn’t have a very good first impression of Wooyoung, but through other means. Yeosang had told him directly, while people like Mingi and Jongho had to figure it out through Yeosang’s actual behaviour. “But I think they’re good friends now. Dunno what happened that made that happen, but yeah. That’s what I think.”

“Yeah, me too,” Mingi agreed. They went back to the place that was distributing the food, picking up a few boxes each. “Y’know, these vests look kinda similar to that jacket.” San stayed silent and did his best to remain impassive in his demeanour. “Also, I stand by what I said. I’m gonna get a job and get rich and I’m gonna buy, like, 50 of those jackets. You can’t stop me.”

“God, if Yunho or Jongho won’t dropkick you, I will.”

Mingi chortled and San made a show of throwing the box in his hands at him, but only laughed with him.

♤ ♤ ♤

It was a lazy Saturday, and Yeosang and San had already gotten their work for their drone done for the week. All they had to do now was revise for midterms, but Yeosang knew, naturally, that neither of them would end up doing that until later.

San was laying idly on his bed while Yeosang was preparing their brunch, just a single serving of instant ramen. Yeosang told San that, should he want another serving, he should tell him now, lest he had to go back and make another serving. San only waved him off, dismissively telling him that a single serving was enough.

Yeosang heard a phone ring, and turned around to see San swipe at his phone screen, pressing a button before putting the phone down next to him on the bed. “Hello?” San said loudly, staring back up at the ceiling.

“Hiya, Sannie,” came Yunho’s voice. Yeosang subconsciously smiled. “Are you and Yeosang free today?”

San directed his attention to Yeosang then, staring at him from across the room with a curious expression on his face. Yeosang only gazed back at him with the same look, sharing the same sort of uncertainty as him. Into the air and loud enough so that Yunho could hear him, San responded, “Yeah, we’re free. What, d’you want us to come over?”

“Well, yeah… I haven’t hung out with you guys in a while, I feel. It’s been a week since I last saw you, Sannie. And God knows how long since I last saw Yeosang. I want all eight of us to hang out together. I don’t think Yeonjun can make it today, though. Apparently he’s completely booked for the day doing other things. I dunno.”

Yeosang saw San smile. “Okay, we’ll come over. Your dorm?” said San.

Yunho made a small sound of assertion, and Yeosang could just picture him nodding.

San rolled over so that his face was directly in front of his phone screen. “Okie. Bye, Yunho-yah.”

Yeosang and San collectively agreed that they wouldn’t bother to wait and finish their food and then go over to Yunho and Mingi’s dorm. So while their instant ramen was cooking in the microwave, San and Yeosang both quickly got changed before their noodles finished—though not by that much, Yeosang hastily pulling on a hoodie while San merely put some earrings in.

Luckily for them, the elevator was up and running, so that saved them from having to walk a few flights of stairs with their ramen cups in hand. Yeosang was beaming on the inside from the fact that he wouldn’t have to walk up the stairs, knowing that walking all the way up to the seventh floor from the third would be something close to hell. He didn’t bother to relay that information to San, but guessed he would have figured it out himself.

By the time they reached Yunho and Mingi’s dorm, Jongho and Wooyoung were already there. They paid little to no attention to the fact that both Yeosang and San had cups of ramen in their hands, so Yeosang surmised that they must have gotten used to it by this point. It definitely wasn’t the first time Yeosang and San had gone around their friends’ dorms holding their meals in hand, and vice versa.

Once Yeosang caught sight of Wooyoung, he discreetly shot him a small smile. One that Wooyoung easily returned.

“Seonghwa- and Hongjoong-hyung should be here soon,” Mingi noted aloud, quickly turning his phone on and off to check the time. “They said they would be five minutes.”

Six minutes passed before their door burst open, Seonghwa and Hongjoong at the threshold, panting as though they’d ran within an inch of their lives.

“Sorry,” Seonghwa said through what breaths he could take. He placed his hands on his thighs as he bent over, still trying to catch his breath. “Hongjoong… his transport card… officers…”

Yunho balked. “Officers?” he asked.

Hongjoong regained his breath fast enough, shaking his head. He swiftly closed the door as soon as he did so, somehow managing to make his face look stony as he looked at Seonghwa. Hongjoong said, “It was nothing. My public transport card was in the negatives and some officer was going around the train checking everyone’s. He told me to top it up, and then I said the wrong thing, and then we bolted.”

Seonghwa looked just about ready to faint. “He just… oh, God…” He looked up at the others, the anger he was feeling obvious by the scowl on his face. “Petition for all of us to strangle Hongjoong at once?”

In lieu of actually catering to Seonghwa’s request, the rest of the group just laughed at him, allowing Hongjoong just a small ego boost before San stopped laughing first, going over to Seonghwa and helping him stand up properly. He directed Seonghwa to the free spot on Yunho’s bed, whereupon Wooyoung shuffled around to give Seonghwa more room. “All right, guys,” San said, feeding Seonghwa just a little bit of his ramen. Yeosang had no idea why. “Settle down.”

“Come _on_ ,” Mingi said, throwing San a disappointed look. “You were the first one to laugh!”

Yeosang instinctively grabbed the one random water bottle that was sitting atop Mingi’s desk and walked over to give it to Seonghwa. The elder took it with a grateful smile before shooting a haughty glare in Hongjoong’s direction. Hongjoong merely stuck his tongue out before fetching water for himself.

Yeosang was about to stand elsewhere after having given Seonghwa the water when he felt someone come up behind him and wrap their arms around his neck in an embrace. Yeosang shifted a glance to his side, barely holding back the smile on his lips when he saw Wooyoung’s face.

“Hi,” Yeosang whispered.

Wooyoung smiled back. “Hi,” he murmured.

“So are we going to play UNO or not?” Jongho’s voice boomed. Wooyoung started, but didn’t loosen his grip on Yeosang. Jongho was holding a stack of UNO cards in his hands, and looked just about ready to hurl them at the person standing closest to him.

Yeosang learned through a very heated game of UNO that Seonghwa and Hongjoong had actually run directly from the station closest to them once the officer that inspected their cards got mad. It was a station about three stops away from the one they were supposed to get off at, which explained why they were so out of breath. To Yeosang, however, it didn’t quite explain why they would have to run the whole way.

“Because Seonghwa wanted us to! Dude thought we were in some sort of wild goose chase so he made us run the whole way!” Hongjoong explained indignantly, nearly throwing his UNO cards up in the air from how hard he’d gesticulated his point. He glowered at Seonghwa, who still looked annoyed at Hongjoong. “I’ll never forgive you for this. Hear me? Never.”

Seonghwa waved a hand in dismissal as though them running all the way from a faraway train station was of little significance. “You’ll get over it,” he told Hongjoong. “Now, can we move on?”

They did eventually move on, only after Hongjoong uttered a long succession of profanities that Seonghwa would have probably been offended by, had Hongjoong not been joking.

Yunho won the game, with Wooyoung coming last by losing to Jongho. Wooyoung didn’t take the loss personally, but Jongho seemingly did, a bit too hurt about the fact that he came second last. Seonghwa and Hongjoong continued to banter back and forth about whose fault it truly was that they had to run all the way to Yunho and Mingi’s dorm room, being sure to throw in a few things from the past that they knew they could use against each other.

It was after about an hour that they all decided to subconsciously turn towards their phones to do something. Yeosang sat on Mingi’s desk chair, resting his elbow on his desk, phone in hand as he scrolled through a bunch of social media posts he didn’t quite bother to like. He looked up when someone sat in front of him.

Wooyoung positioned his own elbow on the desk as well, sitting on another chair in such a way that he mirrored Yeosang. “Hi again,” Wooyoung said.

“Hello,” Yeosang said softly, smiling. He vacantly just noticed a few of the others talking to each other in small groups, Yunho and San being one of the few pairs. None of them seemed to be focused on him and Wooyoung.

“I have your fare money back in my dorm, but I can’t really be bothered getting it now, and my legs hurt,” Wooyoung said, frowning as he rubbed his thigh with his free hand. “I hate leg day, but I can’t skip it.”

Yeosang briefly recalled the one time he’d had to go up to Wooyoung and Yeonjun’s dorm via the stairs to give Yeonjun his parcel and the leg workout he’d gotten from that. In an attempt to distract himself from the memory, his eyes went to the necklace around Wooyoung’s neck.

“I don’t need it at the moment,” Yeosang mumbled, gaze latched onto the accessory. “I can survive with the few thousand won that I have leftover from this past week.”

Wooyoung made a small sound of understanding, before Yeosang reached out a hand, clasping the pendant in his fingers. Subconsciously, Yeosang tugged Wooyoung just a little forward so that he could get a better look at it. Upon observation, he saw that it was a blue opal encased by gold-plated metal. It didn’t look expensive, but it didn’t look all that bad-quality either.

“When do you want me to give you your money?” Wooyoung asked. When Yeosang looked up, their faces were considerably closer than before.

“I don’t mind,” Yeosang said. Now, instead of his eyes going back to Wooyoung’s necklace, they flicked to Wooyoung’s mouth. In all honesty, it was hard for Yeosang to focus on anything else when they were this close. “Give it to me whenever.”

Wooyoung gave him a questioning look. “So if I give it to you next month, you’ll fare-evade your way through classes?”

“No.” Yeosang was tempted to scoff. “I think by the time a month has passed I’ll have bullied you into submission.”

“Bully?” Wooyoung looked affronted, mouth falling into an ‘o’. “After all I’ve done for you? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I recall you telling me I brought you to one of the best fried chicken places you’d ever been to. That, and I’ve bought us food almost every time we’ve hung out. I’ve done you more favours than I have not.”

“Maybe, but you also broke my 800,000 won drone, and you’re paying it off in the form of my transport fare money. That’s the only reason we’re ever hanging out as much as we do, I guess,” Yeosang said. His eyes briefly went back down to the pendant before they met Wooyoung’s again.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Well, after this get-together thing, you can come collect your fare money from my dorm. Oh! And also—” Wooyoung paused to look around at the others. They were still conversing with each other, still in their own bubbles, oblivious. He looked back at Yeosang again, leaning in just slightly. “I’m not completely sure, but I think Yeonjun is seeing someone, so there’s a fair chance he probably won’t come home tonight. So, assuming I’m right, maybe we can watch a movie in my dorm and, like, I dunno, cuddle? I bought one too many packets of corn chips as well, so we can share.”

“Not like I ever said yes to that in the first place, but okay,” Yeosang said lowly, toying with the pendant between his fingers.

Wooyoung jutted his lip out in a pout, looking almost genuinely crestfallen. Yeosang only returned the look, except he made sure that it was the driest look he could muster. It wasn’t long before both of their faces slowly brightened so that they were smiling.

Wooyoung stifled a snort. Yeosang hooked a finger around Wooyoung’s necklace chain and used it to tug him forward, closing the gap between their faces as he kissed him.

“What in the fresh fuck?”

Wooyoung quickly pulled away, looking near horrified to see that Jongho was staring at them, who was just about as surprised as Wooyoung. Yeosang’s face only fell so that he was giving Jongho a similar look that he’d given Wooyoung just seconds before, glaring at him. After a long, silent moment, all the other members of their group realised what had just transpired, all wearing various shocked expressions on their faces, but no doubt sharing the same sentiment.

Hongjoong was the first to react, turning to Mingi impassively. “Gimme,” was all he said.

Mingi snapped out of his surprise fast enough, blinking before he looked at Hongjoong suspiciously. “No,” he said, crossing his arms almost petulantly.

“C’mon, dude. You know you were never gonna win this bet,” Hongjoong quipped.

Seonghwa looked mortified. “You made a _bet_ on them?”

Hongjoong shrugged indifferently. “It’s fine. He’s just gonna be 20,000 won short,” he explained, unbothered. Seonghwa only blanched.

Mingi begrudgingly stuffed a hand in his pocket and produced two ₩10,000 notes. Hongjoong took it from him, maybe a little too happily. 

Seonghwa quickly clutched at the fabric of his hoodie that was just above the left side of his chest. He seemed positively out of breath, and a little horrified. Hongjoong noticed, then patted his back, merely telling him, “Lighten up, Seonghwa. I would’ve thought you of all people would be used to me doing all this shit, but clearly not.”

Seonghwa looked at him with a glare that practically screamed _Murder_ , before he all but tackled Hongjoong into a headlock. Hongjoong laughed, clearly not finding the discomfort Seonghwa thought he was supposed to.

“Kim Hongjoong, you know for a fact that, if arson wasn’t a crime, that laptop of yours would’ve been burned to ashes a long, long time ago,” Seonghwa threatened. “But now—”

Hongjoong paled, a complete contrast to the gleeful look he’d sported just seconds ago. The rest of them laughed as Hongjoong wriggled out of his headlock, dropped to his knees and practically begged Seonghwa for forgiveness. San and Mingi laughed while Yunho tried to calm Hongjoong down with a smile on his face. Jongho stood to the side, and Yeosang saw the youngest sneakily snapping zoomed-in pictures of Hongjoong’s face contorted into something close to agony. Wooyoung snuggled up to Yeosang, laughing as he watched the whole ordeal unfold in front of them. Yeosang felt warm.

♤ ♤ ♤

Despite Yeosang’s words, he _did_ end up at Wooyoung’s dorm room right after Yunho’s little hangout to get his fare money. But even though his original plan was to just get the money and leave, Wooyoung essentially begged him to stay, in spite of Yeosang’s many attempts to tell Wooyoung that San would need help with exam revision.

(Yeosang knew San wasn’t going to actually revise, let alone even need the help, but he had to keep up the facade that he didn’t want anything to do with Wooyoung. Just to maintain his self-restraint.)

“San can do his own revision!” Wooyoung protested. “Your revision isn’t necessarily his revision. I mean, it is, but y’know—this is what you get for getting with me.” He graced Yeosang with a kiss on the cheek.

“San is smart enough to get his revision done, yes,” Yeosang went on, sighing, “but I think he needs me. We’re actual classmates, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung scoffed and let go of Yeosang’s arm where he’d held it in an effort to coax him into staying. “Pfft. Okay, whatever. Go to San, since you so clearly want to pursue that nerd life and not me.” Yeosang was about to reply when Wooyoung suddenly looked down, a guilty expression on his face. In a rather small voice, he said, “Unless you actually need to go, in which case you can...”

Yeosang couldn’t help the small smile that seeped into his mouth.

So that’s how he found himself cuddling with Wooyoung while the latter browsed through his watch history to find the drama he was currently watching to show Yeosang. They’d drawn the blinds, the only form of natural light being a small beam of light peeking out through a crack in the curtains. Yeosang found himself squinting from the blue light of the laptop from time to time, but figured he’d get used to it eventually.

Wooyoung had to scavenge through his watch history for the drama he’d been wanting to show Yeosang because he’d been watching so many. Yeosang had to tell Wooyoung constantly that he didn’t mind whatever Wooyoung wanted to show him, just as long as it didn’t have this one actor he didn’t like.

“Wait,” Yeosang said as Wooyoung kept on flicking past thumbnails. “I just realised—you didn’t even give me my money yet.”

Wooyoung slapped a hand to his face. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, Yeosangie,” he apologised. He looked to the side of Yeosang, where his and Yeonjun’s bedside table was. Wooyoung pointed to it. “My wallet’s there. Just take out 10,000 won.”

Yeosang watched Wooyoung with uncertainty.

Wooyoung only stared back at Yeosang. “Come on, it’s not like you’ve given me any reason not to trust you. We’re literally _cuddling_.” Yeosang just barely made out the small pout on Wooyoung’s face in the semi-darkness. He seemed to do that a lot. “And anyways, I’m right here. So, should you decide to suddenly run off with my credit card, I can whack you in the face with my laptop.”

A little laugh slipped past Wooyoung at Yeosang’s still dubious expression, but Yeosang reached over nonetheless. He dug through Yeosang’s wallet, and when his fingers found a note, he pulled it out.

He had to narrow his eyes to see that he didn’t actually pull out a ₩10,000 note. No, this wasn’t even money. It was a playing card. An ace of spades.

“What’s this?” Yeosang asked, examining it between his fingers. It was an old card, slightly frayed and brown on the edges, and creased a little on one corner.

“Oh, this?” Wooyoung plucked the card out of Yeosang’s hands and inspected it himself. “This is just… I dunno. My grandpa gave it to me when I was younger when I still used to know how to play Go Fish, and I dunno, I just kept it ever since. I sometimes call it my good luck charm, but I kind of only call it that so people like you don’t think I’m crazy for having a single ace of spades in my wallet. But yeah, it’s sorta significant to me.”

Yeosang peered at Wooyoung. The younger seemed to be in thought. “I don’t think it’s… crazy. If it’s special to you, then I don’t think anyone should have a reason to, like, judge you for it.”

Wooyoung chuckled and lightly pinched Yeosang’s cheek. “Ah, you cutie. It’s okay, I don’t really care about anyone else’s opinion. I mean, it’s not like everyone I meet has to take a look at my wallet and go, ‘Ha, an ace of spades. Weirdo.’”

Yeosang rolled his eyes before he put the ace of spades back in the wallet before finally landing on a ₩10,000 note. He pocketed it before putting Wooyoung’s wallet away. He intertwined his hand with Wooyoung’s before they finally decided on a drama that Wooyoung had just started, different from the one he’d initially planned on showing him.

It was halfway into the second episode when Yeosang started complaining about the love interest being a raging asshole. Wooyoung had to hold his hand slightly tighter and calm him down, but it only worked a little.

“How come this isn’t bothering you?” Yeosang asked. “The guy’s the shittiest person I’ve ever had the displeasure of seeing? You don’t just throw someone’s food away into the trash just because they copied one of your answers on a _test._ And this actress? I can name about five non-metal elements that are less _lacklustre_ than her acting. Wooyoung, I hope you know that if it weren’t for you being here, I would’ve died of an aneurysm five minutes ago.”

Wooyoung only let out his infamous hyena laugh and pulled Yeosang closer to him, dropping his arms on his shoulders. Yeosang had to clamp his mouth shut to repress the sound that nearly came out of his mouth when he noticed the proximity. He didn’t know why or how, but every time they would get close like this, that tight feeling he continually felt would always return. He wouldn’t get used to this anytime soon.

Wooyoung kissed Yeosang’s cheek. “For someone that’s so dead on the inside, you’re kinda opinionated… I kinda love it,” Wooyoung said.

“Opinionated?” Yeosang bit back a scoff. “In a good or bad way?”

“Good way,” Wooyoung murmured, snuggling his face close to Yeosang’s. “Kinda like the opinions of a debater or lawyer. Were you a debater in high school?”

“God, no,” Yeosang denied. He had no earthly idea how Wooyoung thought his opinions could equate to that of a lawyer’s or debater’s, but he didn’t bother to ask. “And I don’t know why you keep referring to me as dead inside. I’m the happiest person in the world. I’ve got rainbows and unicorns dancing in my blood.”

Wooyoung made a small sound that seemed as though he was gushing over Yeosang, mouth stretched out into a wide grin. He put a hand on Yeosang’s jaw and pressed their lips together. Yeosang kissed him back, wrapping an arm around Wooyoung’s waist and pulling him closer.

The drama played on in the background while they kissed, and Yeosang felt something swirl around in his stomach as Wooyoung looped his arms around his neck to bring them closer. He didn’t quite understand whatever he was feeling at the moment, only that it felt good and it would take him a while to get used to. He pulled back a little to let Wooyoung breathe, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth as he tried to catch his breath.

He saw Wooyoung’s eyes dart to the side where his phone lit up with a notification. Yeosang carried on, pressing light kisses to Wooyoung’s face and the stretch of skin between his jaw and neck as Wooyoung sluggishly reached a hand over to check his phone.

Yeosang barely just registered Wooyoung whispering, “Oh, God, oh _shit_ ,” before he was abruptly pushed off and was devoid of the warmth Wooyoung’s bed had provided.

Before he even knew it had happened, Yeosang was on the floor and there was a throbbing pain spiralling up from his tailbone to his spine. A split second passed before a thrill of pain then shot through his head. He blindly realised he’d bumped it on the corner of the bedside table.

Yeosang winced, blurting, “Wooyoung, what the hell?”

“Yeonjun is coming,” Wooyoung said, avoiding his question. In the dark, Yeosang only just made out the panicked expression on Wooyoung’s face, eyes wide and brows raised to his hairline. “And he’s already at the elevator—holy shit, Yeosang, you need to _go_ —”

“But I just—?”

Yeosang was then brusquely being straightened so that he was standing, Wooyoung hastily shoving all his belongings into his hands. Yeosang could only blink as Wooyoung quickly helped him tidy himself up, flattening out any creases on his jacket and any stray locks of hair that may or may not have indicated he’d been occupied with Wooyoung.

A quiet sound left Yeosang’s mouth as he tried to speak, only to find himself being pushed out of the door. “Wooyoung, I—”

“Yeosangie, you have to go,” Wooyoung said, his voice bordering on a whine. He was about to close the door, only to stop when Yeosang put his foot between it and the doorframe.

“Wooyoung, I didn’t… do anything wrong, did I?” Yeosang asked him tentatively.

Wooyoung looked horrified at that. “What? No, Yeosangie, no. Yeonjun will just find it really weird if he suddenly found you in our dorm. Y’know, because he doesn’t know about us yet. Plus, we were getting a bit carried away, anyway.” His brows raised suggestively.

Yeosang rolled his eyes once again. He was vaguely aware of the pain in his head being reduced to a dull throb, but the ache in his tailbone remained. “Well, if that’s the case then… goodnight.”

He was just about to turn on his heel when Wooyoung called his name. Yeosang turned.

Wooyoung stood there, face peeking out between the door and its frame. There was a cheeky look on his face, and he was biting his lip around an amused grin.

“I forgot to tell you,” Wooyoung said. “Tomorrow’s my birthday.”

Before Yeosang could even let out another breath, Wooyoung had quickly shut the door. He heard, just faintly, the muffled sound of cheerful laughter behind the door.

♤ ♤ ♤

It was Wooyoung’s birthday, and Yeosang didn’t have a present.

He was panicking because the afternoon had already come, and it seemed as though it was all San could do not to laugh at his dilemma.

Yeosang glared at him from where he was across the room. They were in the midst of getting ready for their morning class and Yeosang didn’t want to ask Wooyoung through text what he wanted, in the case that he’d make himself late. “I’m in the middle of a quarter-life crisis and you have the nerve to _laugh_ at me?” Yeosang sneered.

San only laughed harder, tipping his head back as his shoulders shook. “Come on, it’s not like he’ll kill you if you don’t get him a present. He only told you yesterday. He’d be a bit of an idiot to think that you’d get him a present right away,” San said.

Yeosang sighed. “Yeah, but—”

He cut himself off. He didn’t know what to say. It was true that he’d only been notified the day before, and it was illogical to get him a birthday present so early on. That, and it may have looked bad on Yeosang’s end if he did end up getting a present. It could seem obsessive, in a way.

“I’m right, and you know it,” San said, giving Yeosang a tired look. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

San dragged Yeosang out of the dormitory and they boarded a bus to the train station. While Yeosang was stressing out about what he’d actually do about Wooyoung’s birthday present, San asked him about other things. He probably noticed that Yeosang was having an actual crisis over it, and Yeosang was inwardly grateful for it.

“Do you think our professor deserves rights?” San asked conversationally.

“Honestly? No,” Yeosang replied. “We have to make a whole drone right before exams? The guy is mad. Dunno what his kids did to him, but they did something.”

Yeosang thought that was a good attempt at trying to get his mind off of Wooyoung’s present—but of course, with the thought of trying not to think about it, he ended up thinking about it, anyway.

He huffed out an exasperated breath as they made their way into the train station. “San, I can’t do it,” Yeosang said. “I keep on thinking about it. I don’t wanna send him some lame birthday text—that’s boring and he may think I don’t care enough about him. But then if I get him an actual present, he might think I’m obsessive. I don’t know what to do…”

San made a sound of disappointment, patting Yeosang on the back as he guided them through the thick cluster of people. “I knew it would happen. I mean, you and Wooyoung. I saw the sexual tension between you two ever since that one fateful day in the library. Match made in heaven, Yeosangie.”

Yeosang had many thoughts and possible responses about every single sentence San had uttered, but the only thing that happened was that he felt the tips of his ears burning. “I mean…”

San laughed. “Okay, wait. Tell me, do you actually have any idea what to get him? Anything he likes that you know he doesn’t already have?” he asked.

Yeosang wracked his brain for something, only to come up with nothing. He shook his head.

San hummed. “Okay, well now you know that there’s no possible way of actually getting him a present.” When they reached their platform, San put a comforting hand on Yeosang’s shoulder. “I know you don’t wanna send him a birthday text, but think about it. Maybe he does care about the little things, but you just don’t know it. And maybe he does like big, extravagant things, but you don’t know that either. Don’t stress yourself over it, Yeosangie. You don’t have a lot of options to begin with.”

Yeosang’s eyes dropped to the ground as a sense of realisation washed over him. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, San was right. “I know,” he replied.

San slung his arm over Yeosang’s shoulder and plastered their sides together. “If you’re so worried, you can always go over to his dorm and give him a hug. I’m sure he’ll like that.”

When their morning class finished, Yeosang quickly made his way up the dorms and stood outside Wooyoung and Yeonjun’s dorm room. He asked Yeonjun beforehand if either of them were home, and he’d replied that only Wooyoung was. Yeosang knocked thrice.

The door opened, and before Wooyoung could even get a word out, Yeosang wrapped his arms around him a hug he was sure would cut off his blood circulation.

It lasted for the best of thirty seconds before Yeosang pulled back just enough so that he could see Wooyoung’s face. He smiled widely before he planted a rather sloppy kiss on the younger’s lips.

“Happy birthday, Wooyoungie,” Yeosang said, swiftly pecking Wooyoung’s nose before he detached himself completely.

Wooyoung looked utterly confused where he stood. He was about to open his mouth to speak, but Yeosang turned on his heel and walked speedily to the elevators before Wooyoung could even think of saying anything, grinning quietly to himself.


	8. one of these days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything was okay. Their group was okay. Yeosang and Wooyoung were okay. 
> 
> This, however, San thought, was not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here](https://helplebanon.carrd.co/) is a comprehensive carrd as to how you can help donate to lebanon !!
> 
> irrelevant (but not really) but half of this chapter is inspired by that one video of woo clinging onto yeosang like a koala
> 
> also a slight tw for this chapter: mentions of homophobia

It was fine at the start. Yeosang and Wooyoung inevitably got closer as time went by, both of them spending time together at their dorms, the library, some street food kiosk—anything that was at their closest convenience. The rest of their group got used to it, much like they’d gotten used to Seonghwa and Hongjoong. The rest of the group were impassive towards their relationship for the most part, save for the occasional fake gag whenever either one of them looked at each other in any remotely affectionate way.

Yeosang didn’t necessarily advocate PDA, similar to Hongjoong in his relationship with Seonghwa, but that didn’t stop him from going along with it whenever he and Wooyoung got the chance. Most of it was initiated by Wooyoung, no doubt the clingier of the two, primarily holding Yeosang’s hand, giving him random back hugs or pressing kisses to his cheek when he wasn’t looking. The rest of the group collectively either chose to ignore it, or faked disgust by throwing a mini riot whenever their PDA made an appearance.

Everything was okay. Their group was okay. Yeosang and Wooyoung were okay.

This, however, San thought, was not.

 _This_ was the public display of affection—aggressive, unrelenting and somewhat gag-inducing—San had a bit of a problem with.

 _This_ was what prompted him to run to Yunho and Mingi’s dorm, panting for breath, just barely able to knock twice on their door. “Yunho-yah, Mingi-yah,” he called. The mid-December chill practically flooded the entirety of the hallway, but San still felt hot all over from running so hard. He silently cursed the elevator for being out of order on the one day he desperately needed to use it. “I know you’re in there, open up.”

San leaned his forearm on the door to try and catch his breath, but found out later that that was a bad decision, proven when Yunho abruptly opened the door and he fell unceremoniously to the ground in front of Yunho’s feet.

Yunho was quick to pick him up and make him stand up again, but that didn’t do much to alleviate the pain that shot up San’s arms where he’d landed on the floor.

“Sannie, oh my God, what are you doing?” Yunho asked as he ushered San in. San saw Mingi on the bed from the corner of his eyes, as far as the tears that started appearing on his waterline would let him. “Sannie, what happened? Are you okay?”

San plopped down onto the bed, his back hitting Mingi’s foot as he laid down. Mingi did little to retract his foot, merely shifting a little, but otherwise letting San rest on it.

“Yunho-yah, Mingi-yah,” San panted. The pain in his arms was still prominent, but it had decreased to a throb. “I never want to see you complaining about Yeosang and Wooyoung or Hongjoong and Seonghwa-hyung’s PDA ever again.”

Mingi’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he questioned.

San’s whirring thoughts came to a halt, and his mind was instead clouded with questions and doubts. How was he supposed to tell Mingi and Yunho that he’d just been witness to Yeosang and Wooyoung’s rather heated make-out session? And while he was napping? Did he even want to recount it? Was he even able to?

He snapped out of it soon enough. If he had to see it, then they more or less had to see it too. Or at least, be given a recount.

“Yeosang and Wooyoung…” he breathed. “Aggressive PDA… make-out session… while I was _napping_ …”

Mingi’s head reared back as a look of disgust crossed his face. Yunho merely sighed and rubbed his hand across his face.

“Can you believe that?” San huffed, vexed. “While I was napping? I’m just trying to sleep and then Yeosang’s pushing Wooyoung up against a wall and—”

Yunho promptly clamped a hand over San’s mouth, discontinuing anything he may have wanted to say. “TMI, San,” Yunho reprimanded, “TMI.”

San shoved Yunho’s hand off his mouth, scowling. “Hey! If I saw it, you deserve to as well!”

“You don’t have to lie to yourself, San,” Mingi piped in. San didn’t need to look behind at him to notice the smile on his face. “You ran out of there to save yourself the humiliation, but you probably liked it.”

San reached for the object that was closest to him, and when his hands found someone’s phone, he immediately launched it in the general direction of Mingi. The latter quickly retracted his foot from underneath San when the phone clearly hit him with a painful sounding thud, groaning from the pain.

“Can we both just strangle him at the same time?” San threatened playfully, looking at Yunho. “I watched this one true crime documentary—I know how to get rid of a dead body and make it look like someone else did it…”

Yunho shook his head disappointedly before he gave San a bottle of water. San wondered where on earth he got that from, but figured he’d gotten it while he and Mingi had been talking. San took it from Yunho, downing about half of it while Mingi kept on complaining about the pain in the background.

“Hey!” San said to Mingi. He threw Mingi a pouty look from over his shoulder. Mingi stuck his tongue out at him. “You and I both know for a fact you had that one coming. It’s not _my_ fault Yeosang and Wooyoung decided to bone while I was trying to sleep.”

“You can stop talking now,” Mingi said dryly. He flicked San on the forehead as he stood and made his way to the bathroom, making it a point to slam the door behind him. San snickered.

Yunho then sat down next to San. When San’s laughter quietened down, he put a hand on San’s shoulder. There was a worried look on his face.

“San-ah, are you okay?” Yunho asked.

San sighed. “Well, I just had to watch Yeosangie sucking Wooyoung’s face off and run out of the room because I didn’t wanna watch it. I’m a bit disturbed, to say the least.”

“No, I mean—” Yunho shook his head. “You’re fine, right? With Yeosang and Wooyoung being together?”

“Of course I am,” San said quickly. He pursed his lips for a moment before going on. “Yeosangie can date whoever he wants. I mean, yeah, Wooyoung came out of nowhere and they decided to smash but that’s none of my business.”

Yunho exhaled audibly, indicating that he was still concerned. San made sure to avoid eye contact. “San-ah… do you like Yeosang?”

“Hm?”

“Yeosang. Do you like him?”

“He’s my friend, why wouldn’t I like him?”

The concerned look on Yunho’s face was replaced with a dry one, his mouth falling into a frown. San smiled.

“You know what I mean,” Yunho said. “Do you like Yeosang romantically? Do you… love him?”

San risked a glance at Yunho’s face, and laughed when he saw how worried he looked. “I love him as a friend. But, to be honest with you…” He sighed. “It’s been kinda… foreign. Yeosang hasn’t been this emotionally invested in anyone as long as I’ve known him, so it’s just a bit different for me to watch him direct his attention to someone he’s romantically involved with.”

Yunho hummed in affirmation. Mingi came out of the bathroom then, frowning as he rubbed at his cheekbone, where he’d been hit. San pouted playfully and went over to give him a hug. Mingi grunted and tried to push San away, but gave up when San relentlessly clung to his torso. San heard Yunho laughing in the background.

♤ ♤ ♤

Yeosang didn’t know why he was here, but he stood outside Yeonjun and Wooyoung’s dorm nonetheless, somewhat confused.

He stood there contemplating whether it was a good idea leaving San in the dark about where he was going these days, but he guessed San was smart enough to know that he was usually with Wooyoung. After all, they weren’t entirely subtle about their relationship, as far as their version of PDA went.

It was a moment before Yeosang realised he completely forgot to check in and ask whether either of them were home.

He nearly dropped his phone trying to get it out of his pocket, fumbling in his haste as he opened his messages. He promptly stopped typing when he felt someone come up from behind and wrap their arms around his torso.

Yeosang didn’t flinch. Instead, he simply shut his phone off, shoved it back into his pocket. He didn’t have to look behind to know who it was. “Hi, Wooyoung,” he said.

“Hiya, Yeosangie,” Wooyoung greeted. “Now what are _you_ doing outside my room?”

The words were on the tip of his tongue—“ _I wanted to see you_ ” and “ _I missed you_ ” and “ _I really like being around you because you somehow make me happy_ ”—but he wasn’t able to get them out. Yeosang shifted a glance down at his feet, then muttered, a little pathetically, “Just passing by.”

“Hm.” Wooyoung then pretended to bite Yeosang’s shoulder. The latter didn’t react. “You could’ve texted me.”

“I was about to,” Yeosang said. “Where were you?”

“Just finished a job interview,” Wooyoung replied casually as he began to slowly rock back and forth on his heels, swinging Yeosang along with him, then proceeded to try and bite Yeosang on the ear. Yeosang simply moved his head to the side, swerving him. “Yeonjun’s in class.”

“Right,” Yeosang said. Wooyoung trying to bite him on the shoulder again prompted that familiar tight sensation in his chest. He glanced left and right along the hallway. He didn’t know what he would do if someone caught them like this, but he knew he probably wouldn’t like it.

Luckily, Yeosang didn’t have to verbally ask if they could go in, because Wooyoung parted from him and unlocked the door, gesturing for Yeosang to go in first. Once they’d both entered, Wooyoung didn’t miss his chance to quickly latch onto Yeosang again in a back hug.

“You wanna watch that drama we didn’t finish off last time?” Wooyoung asked. “Or d’you just wanna cuddle?”

“I don’t mind,” Yeosang said.

They ended up cuddling on Wooyoung’s bed by his insistence, simply because Wooyoung had missed him (even though Yeosang was sure that they’d seen each other just two days ago) and that, since they had the whole dorm to themselves, they could do whatever they wanted. Yeosang thought he did well at covering his blushing ears at that statement, because Wooyoung didn’t make any suggestive comments.

As time ticked on, they merely talked and cuddled, sometimes exchanging chaste kisses here and there whenever either one of them felt like it. Yeosang learned a few things about Wooyoung that he didn’t already know from before, like how he really liked rain and how he’s a middle child. How his favourite colour is black and how he was born in Ilsan and spent most of his childhood and adolescent years there. Yeosang in turn told him about his own childhood, and they launched into a deep conversation about how every childhood is unique in its own way, and then a lot more philosophical talk Yeosang was sure he’d probably have to strain to remember in the future.

“I should probably start telling San wherever I’m going nowadays,” Yeosang thought aloud. Wooyoung was lying on top of him, his head on Yeosang’s chest, their arms wrapped around each other’s torsos. Yeosang absently started tracing concentric circles onto Wooyoung’s back over the fabric of his shirt. “I’m always leaving him alone. I feel kinda bad.”

“Then why are you hanging out with me in the first place?” Wooyoung demanded then, lifting his head and resting his chin on Yeosang’s chest. Their faces were just centimetres apart, and if Yeosang moved just a little forward, the tips of their noses would touch. “Go hang out with him! Poor San, always third wheeling around you. I still remember when he ran out of the room once while we made out. Good times, good times…”

Wooyoung showed no signs of actually wanting Yeosang to go hang out with San, but Yeosang didn’t bother to point that out.

“After this, you’re gonna hang out with San, okay?” Wooyoung said, temporarily moving his hand out from under Yeosang’s body so that he could poke him on the cheek. He moved his head so that his cheek was resting on Yeosang’s chest again. “I’ve given you no reason to even like me.”

Yeosang felt his face fall. “Don’t say that,” he said. He felt the pressing urge to recite all the reasons he liked Wooyoung, why he was always on his mind in the first place, but decided against it. He’d end up boring Wooyoung by the end of it, even though he knew he would like the attention. “In all honesty, I’ve given _you_ no reason to like _me_.”

Wooyoung gasped and lightly swatted Yeosang on the arm, saying, “Yeosang, _no_.” Yeosang chuckled quietly as a sullen look settled on Wooyoung’s face. “Yeosangie, you’ve given me every reason to like you. You’re kind, you’re _funny_ , you’re considerate, you’ve got the world’s most beautiful smile and you’re a good cuddle buddy. I could go on and on, but you’d be here for a while.”

Yeosang knew that he wouldn’t be able to hide his blush, but tried to avoid Wooyoung seeing it anyway, gently putting a hand on the back of his head so that his cheek remained on his chest. He knew, however, that Wooyoung would easily be able to hear his rapid heartbeat.

“If anything, Minhee didn’t even really give me a reason to like her,” Wooyoung continued. “She was just… pretty, I guess. Nice when she felt like it. God, but her brother was an asshole.”

“Is he still bothering you?” Yeosang asked, even though he knew the answer was probably no.

But to his surprise, Wooyoung nodded. “Yeah, he is. I mean, not now, but a week ago he sent me a string of curse words via text, and he also told me how much of an asshole I was for breaking up with his sister. Dunno how he still has my number, but whatever.”

Yeosang paused tracing circles onto his back so that he could cup Wooyoung’s cheek in his hand and lift his head so that he was looking into his eyes. Wooyoung had a blank look on his face.

“You know you can like, tell him off, yeah?” Yeosang said softly. “If he’s bothering you so much, go and tell authorities. Or at least block his number.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad. I’ve already tried blocking him, but he somehow keeps on changing his number and getting mine anyway. It’s just a bunch of insults and slurs, nothing I’ve never heard before.”

His words made an uncomfortable sensation settle in Yeosang’s stomach. He brushed some of Wooyoung’s hair behind his ears. Wooyoung laid his head back down.

“There’s this new romance-slash-thriller movie that came out. D’you wanna watch it?” Wooyoung murmured.

Anything to hide the fact that he was sort of (super) whipped for Wooyoung. “Yeah,” Yeosang said. They moved so that they were sitting on the small settee by Yeonjun’s bed while Wooyoung set the movie up on his laptop. Yeosang made it a point to bring a blanket.

This time, the acting was exponentially better than the last thing Wooyoung made him watch, save for a few unimaginative sex scenes that Yeosang all but rushed to skip. He didn’t know what it was with Wooyoung showing him more bad movies than good ones, but he guessed that was their thing now. Cuddling while Yeosang picked out toxic and harmful tropes and lacklustre acting in the bad movies they watched, giving Wooyoung more entertainment than he’d asked for.

The movie eventuated with the pair nuzzling up close to each other, Wooyoung’s arm going behind Yeosang’s waist as the latter slotted Wooyoung’s side against his own, an arm looped around his shoulders to keep him secure.

“Yeosangie,” Wooyoung sing-songed as the end credits rolled in.

“Yes?”

“Do you like me?”

“Yeah,” Yeosang said, meaning it.

“Would you do anything for me?”

“Yeah,” Yeosang said again, meaning it.

Wooyoung shifted next to him so that he could look up. Yeosang hazarded a glance at him, only to quickly look away once he realised there was no possible way of maintaining eye contact with him without being tempted to squeeze the life out of him in a hug. “Would you hug me like those main characters did in that movie?” Wooyoung asked. “Just then?”

Yeosang vaguely recalled the embrace the two protagonists of the movie had been in just before the ending scene. It was similar to their current pose, only a bit more intimate, for lack of a better word.

And as obscure of a request that was, Yeosang would have been a fool to deny anything Wooyoung wanted of him. “If you’d like,” Yeosang mumbled.

“Can you?”

He didn’t need to be told any more than that; he wrapped both his arms around Wooyoung’s waist as the latter reciprocated, climbing into Yeosang’s lap and straddling his thighs. Yeosang slotted Wooyoung’s head underneath his own, feeling a little giddy as he felt the younger boy’s breath against his neck and collarbone.

“Like this?” Yeosang asked.

Wooyoung quickly pecked Yeosang’s cheek in response. “Like this,” Wooyoung agreed.

There was that sensation in Yeosang’s chest again, the thing that always happened to him whenever he and Wooyoung exchanged these kinds of affectionate things—his chest seizing up in a way that felt like his heart had suddenly stopped beating, like his lungs refused to work. He would have been lying if he had said he didn’t like the feeling. He would have probably hated himself if he didn’t like the feeling.

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang said, a hand coming up to comb through the hair on the back of Wooyoung’s head. The latter seemed to completely adore the action, pressing more into Yeosang. “Do you ever think about people like us from before?”

“From before?”

Wooyoung seemed to have understood the ‘people like us’ part perfectly well.

“From long ago. Thousands of years ago, maybe,” Yeosang elaborated. “The people in hiding who probably sat down and wondered if there were probably others like them, still in hiding as well. The people who wished to be accepted, thinking they never would. Wishing that maybe the state of their relationship with the rest of humanity would only get better with time.” Yeosang swallowed, his throat overcome with a thick sensation he didn’t like. “Time was the only thing they could rely on back then, I suppose.”

He felt Wooyoung squeeze him harder. In return, Yeosang nuzzled his cheek against the top of his head. “The people who hoped for better days,” Wooyoung muttered.

There it was again—the feeling of his chest tightening up, except this time it was accompanied by the oncoming threat of tears behind his eyes. Yeosang frowned. Suddenly it was hard to talk. “The people who hoped for better days,” he repeated, feeling bittersweet about the way his heart seemed to skip multiple beats as he felt Wooyoung’s lashes brush his neck once, signalling him having closed his eyes.

It was hard to think about even now, what with the repressed bigotry against people like them. The underlying question of whether or not they would ever be able to be themselves in public, the thoughts that the prejudiced would drill into their heads of them simply being people who needed to be fixed. The visceral fear of people like themselves. The sickening thought of something being wrong with them.

His chest felt tight again, but not in the way Wooyoung made it. Not in the good way.

Yeosang brushed the hair out of Wooyoung’s eyes, marveling at how at peace he looked like this—safe and sound, unworried about anyone inflicting harm on him. He stared at Wooyoung’s eyes, his nose, lips. Wooyoung was beautiful, so beautiful that Yeosang found himself absently trying to commit his face to memory.

He pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of his head, the emotions roiling in his chest so intense he might have stopped breathing. Yeosang kept his hand in Wooyoung’s hair, softly running his fingers through the deep, dark locks.

Yeosang would do anything for Wooyoung. He would hope for better days. They both would.

♤ ♤ ♤

Hongjoong placed both of his hands on the table, leaning in. His eyebrows were drawn and his lips were thinned—a clear indication that he was annoyed at what San had just said.

“Repeat that,” Hongjoong said ominously.

Yeosang watched San from the corner of his eye. Mingi looked like he was about to curl in on himself. San straightened, then said, “We came to the library to study.”

Hongjoong’s anger then contorted into disgust as his lips curled into a deep frown, nose scrunching up. Seonghwa rolled his eyes where he stood a few feet away from Hongjoong.

“On New Year’s eve?” Hongjoong exclaimed. Yeosang anxiously shifted glances around the library when he noticed that other students’ attentions had been captured by Hongjoong. “On New Year’s eve!”

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa scolded in a whisper, smacking Hongjoong on the arm. “Calm _down_ —they’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Oh, but they are!” Hongjoong countered loudly, gesturing to Yeosang, Mingi and San in front of him. Seonghwa shook his head. Yeosang winced when he saw someone from another table throw them a dirty look. “How dare you disrespect the universal rules of celebrating the new year by studying on New Year’s eve?”

“Hyung—”

Hongjoong cut San off by abruptly pushing his laptop screen down, then gathering all of their textbooks into one big pile. Yeosang tried to grab onto his own textbooks, but Hongjoong was too fast. Seonghwa tried to pull Hongjoong back, to no avail.

“Pack up. Pack up right now,” Hongjoong ordered, and Yeosang was glad he wasn’t yelling now. “You’re all gonna come hang out with us and the others and then we’re all gonna go out drinking when the countdown begins. Like we promised, remember?”

That was true—they’d all collectively agreed to go out drinking this New Year’s eve, but Yeosang didn’t realise why Hongjoong would be so pressed about it now. It was only the evening, nowhere near the countdown.

While Hongjoong made them all pack their belongings back into their bags, Yeosang’s doubts were answered. Seonghwa turned to the three of them, an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry, guys,” he said lowly. Hongjoong was standing to the side, rightfully getting scolded by some librarian. “Something pissed Hongjoong off this morning and he’s been annoyed this whole day. I’m sorry again on his behalf if he pisses you off, too.”

Yeosang, San and Mingi all shook their heads in unison and all muttered things about not really caring about it. After all, Yeosang was used to Hongjoong’s antics whenever he was even remotely pissed or annoyed, and he knew San and Mingi—and pretty much the rest of their group—was accustomed to his behaviour, too.

They exited the library with other students sending them death glares, all primarily directed towards Hongjoong. The culprit in question didn’t seem to care, leading the five of them out of the library with almost a skip in his gait. Yeosang was tempted to trip him just to see how he’d react, but decided against it when he remembered Seonghwa’s words.

Instead he poked Hongjoong on the shoulder and made it look like Mingi did it. Mingi wasn’t all that happy about it, especially not when Hongjoong looked just about ready to murder him.

They made it onto the train without any trouble, which made Yeosang’s mind briefly wander back to when he had to fare-evade his way through classes and other things because his transport card had expired. The memory brought a smile to his face, even when he did his best to conceal it.

When they got onto a carriage, none of them bothered to take a seat, even though there were many vacant ones. Instead, they all decided to stand around one of the poles that extended from the floor to the ceiling, as they usually did whenever they traveled in large groups in the subway. Yeosang gripped one of the handles on the ceiling while San had to hold onto Yeosang’s sleeve since there were no other handles he could hold. Yeosang knew that none of them wanted to touch the pole.

“Yeosang-ah,” Hongjoong said when he saw Yeosang reach for his phone in his pocket. “You don’t need to call Wooyoung. I’ve already called him for you. Likely he’s already there.”

Yeosang hadn’t actually tried to pick out his phone so that he could call Wooyoung, but he didn’t comment and dropped his hand to his side anyway.

“Yeosang-ah, you’re always hanging out with Wooyoung,” Mingi said, feigning hurt. “Don’t you have time for me?”

“I’m afraid not, Mingi.”

Mingi scoffed, then patted Yeosang’s head. “I’m sure I’m way better company than Wooyoung. I know for a fact that I got a better score than him at karaoke that one time, remember?”

Yeosang knew he was joking, but gave Mingi a shake of the head anyway. San giggled under his breath.

“Don’t worry, Yeosangie,” Mingi cooed, patting Yeosang’s head again, but this time he kept his hand there. “One day I’m gonna ask you out on a date and we’re gonna have hotteok, okay? Okay.”

“Hotteok that you’d make? Or buy?” Yeosang asked.

“Buy, obviously.”

“Thank God.”

Mingi was the only one who didn’t seem to find amusement in Yeosang’s retort, being the only one to frown while the rest broke loose in a storm of laughter. He withdrew his hand from Yeosang’s head, but not before Yeosang quickly grabbed it and flicked Mingi on the wrist. San laughed harder.

“Hyung!” Mingi exclaimed, looking at Seonghwa desperately. “Can you do something about them? They’re bullying me!”

“I will,” Hongjoong said, already beginning closing the distance between him and Yeosang, only to be stopped when Seonghwa yanked him back by his collar. “Hey!”

Seonghwa didn’t dignify Hongjoong with any sort of response, and instead, he said to Mingi and Yeosang, “Guys, enough. I understand that Mingi’s just about the easiest person to make fun of, but not now.”

“Hyung, you’re no fun,” San complained in a pout.

Seonghwa rolled his eyes and said nothing further, but couldn’t suppress his grin.

By the time they reached their stop and met up with the others, Yeosang noticed that the sun had already gone down. When he stopped looking at the multicoloured horizon, his eyes caught Wooyoung.

Yeosang did a quick once over of Wooyoung. He was in a leather jacket and jeans; a completely different look compared to the normal hoodie and sweatpants he always resorted to on normal days. But he thought he looked good, and made sure to convey it when Wooyoung walked up to him by sneakily planting a kiss on his cheek.

Mingi and Yunho fake gagged. Jongho and Hongjoong made aggressive vomiting sounds.

The evening marched on quicker than Yeosang thought it would, and before he could even properly comprehend it, the eight of them were already heading towards a restaurant with a bar, and it was 10PM. When they walked in, the place wasn’t as packed as Yeosang expected it to be, and luckily they managed to get a booth before anyone else did.

Now that it was their first year they could properly drink out (Jongho had just reached the legal drinking age this year), Seonghwa delegated Jongho the job of ordering for them all. Jongho did the job without complaint, but made sure to give Hongjoong and Seonghwa both quelling glances.

“You hyungs have to be careful,” he said, looking at both of them in turn. “Like, seriously.”

Confusion settled upon Wooyoung’s face. Taking notice of that, Yeosang leaned in and muttered, “They’re both lightweights. By the third shot you’ve lost Seonghwa, Hongjoong by the fourth.”

Wooyoung nodded once in understanding.

Yeosang’s statement would soon be further cemented when Seonghwa downed his fifth shot, and looked just about ready to start sobbing.

“Hey, crybaby,” Hongjoong slurred, leaning in closer to where Seonghwa was on the other side of the table. “You know you’re the dumbest person I’ve ever met, right? Look at you, fuckin’ crying and shit.”

Something in Seonghwa’s expression changed, and before any of them saw it coming, Seonghwa had reached over and grabbed Hongjoong by the collar, knocking over an empty glass in the process, a murderous expression on his face. Wooyoung started in his seat, and Yeosang put a comforting hand on his thigh.

“You stupid fuckin’ moron,” Seonghwa seethed, his face just inches from Hongjoong’s impassive one. “I tolerate your shit every single day for you to tell me I’m a crybaby? A _crybaby_ , you incompetent fuckin’ _idiot_?”

When Seonghwa promptly pressed a sloppy and frankly disgusting kiss on Hongjoong’s lips, Yeosang saw Mingi and San feign disgust by fake gagging. Jongho merely shook his head while Yunho and Wooyoung looked away. Yeosang laughed under his breath.

“I love you so much,” Seonghwa slurred. Hongjoong simply looked back at him, his blank face remaining unchanged. “I love you so so so so much. God, but you’re a fuckin’ asshole.”

“I could say the same thing about you, you asshat,” Hongjoong said before he kissed Seonghwa, and Yeosang had to cover Wooyoung’s eyes with his hands as he, too, looked away, gagging under his breath. He heard Mingi and San’s simultaneous grunts of displeasure in the back. “You’re the most beautiful person on this earth. I don’t know what I’d do without you…”

“I love you so much, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa said before ducking his head. His shoulders shook, but from crying or laughing, Yeosang had no idea. “You’re an absolute cumrag. I hate you.”

They went around in circles, exchanging insults, then switching to the small love professions, then occasionally blatantly kissing in front of their friends. Mingi and San attempted to riot, but when Hongjoong tried to bite Mingi, they stopped.

“This isn’t them at their worst,” Jongho told Wooyoung. “Last year on New Year’s eve, they both stood on top of the table and threw their asses around in circles. You’re only seeing half of it.”

The night went on like this, with Seonghwa and Hongjoong bickering back and forth about how they both simultaneously loved and hated each other, with Mingi and San chanting made-up songs about how love isn’t fair while Yunho and Jongho observed them quietly over their glasses.

Yeosang made sure not to drink as much as he would have liked, just to make sure he didn’t accidentally expose the fact that he, too, was one of the group’s lightweights to Wooyoung. That plan, however, failed when Hongjoong impulsively told Wooyoung exactly what he’d wanted to keep a secret.

“You literally can’t be in our friend group if you don’t know about it,” Hongjoong said to Wooyoung. Then, he leaned in with an ominous look on his face, hands on the table. Yeosang thought this was his best, but also most pathetic, attempt at making things dramatic. “I remember it so clearly. He leaned into San, eyes half-lidded and all sensual, then said, ‘I dunno if I made it obvious before but I _really_ wouldn’t mind taking you to bed with me.’”

Yeosang tried to act indifferent while Hongjoong explained the rest of that night in unnecessary detail, plastering on the most expressionless face he could as he avoided any and every chance to make eye contact with anyone. He knew, however, by the smile on Wooyoung’s face by the end of Hongjoong’s recount, that he would have been in for a long night from him either way.

When the countdown ended and they’d entered the new year, Hongjoong and Seonghwa didn’t share a heartfelt kiss like the rest of the group thought they would. Instead, Seonghwa poured his shot of tequila on Hongjoong’s head. Hongjoong then grinned and pressed a kiss on Seonghwa’s hand.

By the time they stood outside the dormitory, half of them were drunk while the other half tried their best to hold the drunk ones up so that they didn’t fall asleep where they stood. Wooyoung narrowly escaped Seonghwa falling on top of him by latching onto Yeosang’s arm.

Hongjoong then bumped into Seonghwa, and before any of them could stop it from happening, the pair had fallen onto the hard, concrete ground with painful-sounding thuds, with Seonghwa on top of Hongjoong. Yeosang was surprised that neither of them displayed any visible signs of discomfort or pain, but he figured that was courtesy of their lack of sobriety.

“Hey,” Hongjoong said to Seonghwa, his voice coming out in a quiet mumble. Yeosang had to strain his ears to hear him. “You’re the stupidest person on this earth. I love you, you know that, right?”

Just seconds after saying that, Hongjoong’s head laid limp on the ground and he closed his eyes, face immediately going lax. Seonghwa made a small sound of agreement before he patted Hongjoong’s head like he would with a pet, letting out a broken grunt before he, too, passed out with his cheek on Hongjoong’s chest.

♤ ♤ ♤

The next time they were in the prairie, Yeosang made it rain.

He watched how Wooyoung’s face slightly lit up in a smile as the first few drops hit the sunflowers surrounding them. They were both standing in the middle of the prairie in the small clearing. Wooyoung stood just a foot away from Yeosang, and Yeosang could only stare at Wooyoung as he held his hand out, where the droplets of rain pooled in his palm.

Yeosang was quick to move his head to the side as Wooyoung launched the small amount of water in his hand at him, smiling when he saw the glee on Wooyoung’s face. The rain was getting heavier now, Wooyoung’s black fringe being matted by it against his forehead.

Yeosang went to touch him, reaching out a hand, but Wooyoung moved away. When Yeosang took a step forward, Wooyoung only contented himself by grinning smugly at him, before he turned the other way and began running.

Yeosang chased after him, weaving through the giant mass of sunflowers, just barely able to hear Wooyoung’s joyful laughter in the rain pouring down on them. Every time he thought he could touch him, he was proven wrong whenever Wooyoung presented him with some sort of obstacle, like a fallen sunflower to make him trip. Yeosang wasn’t aware of how long they were running for, but he knew that he didn’t really end up catching Wooyoung.

♤ ♤ ♤

The first few days of January found themselves being a lot more hectic than Yeosang thought. In December, he could freely meet up with Wooyoung as much as he liked, or at least as much as his syllabus and timetable would let him, but now, the most he could do was send him a few ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’ texts whenever he had some spare time.

He figured that was a good thing, though, because it meant he was more focused on actual work. It also meant he could catch up with San, which he’d been planning to do for a while.

Yeosang was used to the workload and the lifestyle of devoting most of his spare time into studying for midterms and exams—after all, that’s what he’d always been doing for a year and a half, way before he met Wooyoung—and didn’t mind it, but he still found himself texting Wooyoung one evening, asking if he was able to go over.

When Wooyoung sent him a text back within the first minute, Yeosang was quick to leave his own dorm, bidding a hasty farewell to San, who’d been doing some of his own studies.

Yeosang found himself in front of Wooyoung’s dorm room within the next five minutes. He didn’t need to knock, because Wooyoung opened the door for him just seconds before he even arrived, openly welcoming him in.

“I know for a fact that Yeonjun’s not coming home for tonight,” Wooyoung said, closing the door behind him, “so you can stay the night if you want.”

It was a Friday night. Yeosang nodded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically than his pride would have liked.

“Oh! Also,” Wooyoung went to grab something from his desk, and when he turned, he was holding a ₩10,000 note in his hand, “your fare money.”

Yeosang momentarily just looked at the money in his hand before he took it from Wooyoung.

“The semester’s almost over,” Wooyoung carried on, “so it’ll be a few more weeks before I don’t have to pay for your weekly fare anymore.”

Yeosang stared at the note in his hand for just a second longer before he slotted it into his wallet. He gave Wooyoung a small smile. Wooyoung returned it.

“Have you noticed?” Wooyoung asked when they’d settled onto that settee five minutes later. Wooyoung had planned to do some online clothes shopping and requested for Yeosang to help him pick out the few things he felt ambiguous about. He hadn’t realised it before, but now that he was here, Yeosang found that shopping for clothes online specifically was somewhat therapeutic.

Yeosang looked up from the website they were looking at. “Noticed what?” he asked.

“Mingi and San. They’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

Yeosang’s hands distractedly went to hold Wooyoung’s. He played with his fingers, brushing Wooyoung’s knuckles with the pads of his fingers. “I’ve noticed,” Yeosang murmured. “But it’s unlikely that they’ll spark up any sort of relationship at the moment. San is hellbent on doing well for his midterms. The last thing he’s going to focus on is a relationship.”

“Hm.” Wooyoung let Yeosang fiddle around with his hands, but watched him as he did so. “But I like their dynamic. Two chaotic people doing chaotic things.”

Yeosang looked up at Wooyoung. “What, you don’t like _our_ dynamic?”

“I _do_ ,” Wooyoung said in a pout. “Believe me, I do. But I’m just saying…”

Yeosang smiled widely before he leaned in and kissed Wooyoung. Wooyoung pulled his hands out of Yeosang’s grasp and used them to cradle the other’s face, kissing him back. It was a long moment before Wooyoung pulled away from the kiss, breathlessly murmuring, “We’re getting distracted.”

Yeosang nodded, but made sure to quickly press another kiss to Wooyoung’s lips with a grin before they resumed trying to look for decent looking clothes for Wooyoung.

Wooyoung put on some music from his phone and they continued to search the web for whatever affordable clothing they could find. Much of it was Yeosang telling Wooyoung that a certain article of clothing was ‘utter garbage’ (“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you get away with wearing that piece of rat shit.”) and Wooyoung rebutting by adding it to his cart anyway. Some few hours had passed before Yeosang realised it was well past 11 o’clock.

“We should probably go to sleep,” Yeosang said, gesturing to the time displayed in the corner of Wooyoung’s laptop screen. “I wouldn’t wanna ruin my sleep schedule or yours right before midterms.”

Wooyoung nodded in agreement before he shut his laptop. Yeosang got off the settee in the same moment a realisation settled in him.

“Shit,” he cursed. “I forgot my toothbrush.”

Wooyoung dismissed the matter swiftly with a wave of his hands. “No problem, I have a few unopened toothbrushes in the cabinet. Unless you wanna use mine. I mean, we _do_ swap spit from time to time anyway, to put it lightly.”

“You’re annoying.” Yeosang flicked Wooyoung on the forehead before he went into the bathroom with him. True enough, Wooyoung did have unopened toothbrushes, and was more than happy to lend Yeosang one for the night. They proceeded with their night routine without any problems, Yeosang making sure to snap a few mirror selfies with Wooyoung that he would likely stare at whenever he missed him in the future.

“You know,” Wooyoung said as Yeosang washed his face. “If we never got together and I finished giving you your weekly fares, we would technically have no reason to hang out. Like, ever.”

Yeosang stared at him in the mirror. Wooyoung wrapped his arms around Yeosang’s waist from behind, resting his cheek on his back. Yeosang’s chest seized once again. “What do you mean?” he asked Wooyoung softly.

“I’m just pointing it out,” Wooyoung crooned. “If I hadn’t broken your drone and you didn’t make me pay for your weekly transport money, none of this—,” he gestured vaguely between the two of them, “—would have happened. We’d just be friends.”

Yeosang didn’t say it aloud, but he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that the thought of them being anything but _this_ made him feel bad. It was a bitter thought that almost left a bad taste in his mouth.

“And then if I had a job, I wouldn’t have to give some of my money to you, and all of these obstacles that brought us here would’ve never existed,” Wooyoung continued. “Now that I think about it, I probably wouldn’t even have surplus money. I’d reserve it for other things.”

“Other things? Like what?”

“Charities. The debt ridden, maybe. You know, money for people who kind of actually need it,” Wooyoung said with a smirk.

The weird feeling in his chest seemed to only sharpen. Wooyoung wasn’t looking at him, but Yeosang stared at him in the mirror as if he hung the moon.

Wooyoung pressed a small kiss to Yeosang’s nape as he extricated himself from him, telling him that he’d be in bed as he washed up. Yeosang nodded and finished up the rest of his skincare routine before he left the bathroom.

When he returned to the main room, Wooyoung had shut off all the lights, save for a small lamp on the bedside table. He was lying in bed, phone in his hand as he scrolled through it lazily.

Yeosang went over to him and slid in next to him under the covers. He shifted so that he was lying on his side and facing Wooyoung.

Wooyoung turned, shutting his phone off as he looked at Yeosang. Their faces were only inches apart.

Wooyoung was gorgeous even then, despite the dim lighting of their room only illuminating half of his face. Yeosang continued to look at him, but didn’t expect it when Wooyoung brought a hand up behind his head and used it to bring their faces closer. Just when he thought Wooyoung was about to kiss his lips, he ended up kissing Yeosang’s left temple instead. Then he kissed the corner of his left eye.

Wooyoung let go of Yeosang and poked his nose with a finger. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” he mumbled with a small smile.

Yeosang couldn’t help the hand that came up to absently brush a few bangs out of Wooyoung’s eyes. The younger merely blinked, eyes studying Yeosang’s face.

“Hey,” Yeosang murmured, brushing his knuckles against Wooyoung’s cheekbone. Wooyoung blinked again, this time a bit more owlishly. “You know I’m in love with you, yeah?”

The silence that ensued left Yeosang feeling… empty, but also fulfilled in a way that he couldn’t quite name. Wooyoung wasn’t responding, only staring right back at him.

Yeosang’s stomach did a flip, and not in the good way. Had he been too early? Was Wooyoung scared? Did he... not feel the same way?

Wooyoung’s hand came up then, coming behind Yeosang’s head to stroke the hairs at his nape. Yeosang felt his breath hitch in his throat. He might have just choked.

“For someone who looks dead inside more than half the time, you really are a sap,” Wooyoung said, and then suddenly the hand behind Yeosang’s head pushed the two of them closer, letting Wooyoung kiss Yeosang firmly on the lips. Wooyoung pulled away after a second or two, and while it hadn’t even been that long of a kiss, Yeosang was rendered a little breathless. “I love you, too.”

The feeling that dominated Yeosang’s chest next was heavy but, at the same time, exhilarating. There was a dreamy smile on his face, and it remained even when Yeosang pressed his lips to Wooyoung’s again.

And they kissed and kissed and kissed, muttering hushed _I love you’_ s among other whispered love professions to each other over and over again all the way up until they got tired, until Yeosang’s lips were tingling, until there were grains of sleep lining his waterline. He held Wooyoung in his arms as the latter reciprocated, falling into a dreamless sleep.


	9. all i want is everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time before Wooyoung seemed like a distant memory now, even if it hadn’t even been that long since it started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again sorry for the long wait!! i’ll try to update these last few chapters quickly, but i can’t promise anything ......
> 
>  **tw for this chapter:** descriptions of injuries and blood

Yeosang felt groggy and didn’t want to wake up, and when he cracked an eye open to see Wooyoung still sleeping, he guessed he probably felt the same. Then Wooyoung threw an arm around Yeosang’s waist, muttering, “Two more minutes. No, five.”

Yeosang yawned and tried to prise Wooyoung’s hand off his waist, but stopped when Wooyoung tossed his leg over Yeosang’s, further trapping him. “Wooyoung, get off,” he said.

“No, it’s the weekend. Ten more minutes.”

“Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung now clung to Yeosang from behind, almost like a koala. Yeosang tried to throw the covers off them, but found it difficult with Wooyoung’s arms wrapped so tightly around him. “I just told you,” Wooyoung said groggily, yawning. “It’s the weekend. We have heaps of time.”

Yeosang checked the time on his phone. It was five minutes to ten o’clock.

“It’s 2PM,” Yeosang lied in an attempt to get him off. “We’ve been sleeping for 16 hours.”

“So? It’s the weekend. Five more minutes.”

“I wonder who died trying to prove your annoyingness can kill.”

Wooyoung smacked Yeosang on the arm. Yeosang smacked him back before he yanked Wooyoung’s arm off him, then lightly kicked his legs off his. When Wooyoung tried to grab back onto him, Yeosang quickly shuffled away, but fumbled in his haste, making himself fall onto the ground with a loud thud.

He heard Wooyoung’s high-pitched laugh from up on the bed. Yeosang snatched the pillow closest to him and threw it where he knew Wooyoung’s head was.

Yeosang yawned once again before hauling himself up and walking over to the bathroom. Wooyoung was still in bed by the time he’d finished doing his morning routine, but got out of bed when he saw Yeosang go towards the microwave.

“Wait wait wait,” Wooyoung said, putting his hand on Yeosang’s arm. “I wanna make you coffee.”

Yeosang pulled back his hand. “Oh, so now you wanna wake up?”

Wooyoung stretched where he stood, putting his arms high in the air before he let them drop onto Yeosang’s shoulders. Yeosang managed to stop himself from tripping by grabbing onto Wooyoung’s waist, pulling him close. Wooyoung grinned at him. 

“Only for you,” he mumbled, going in to kiss Yeosang. Yeosang shot a hand up and pressed his fingers to Wooyoung’s lips.

“Morning breath,” Yeosang said, faking an ingratiating smile. “Go brush your teeth, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung pulled away from him, rolling his eyes. “Not yet,” he said. “I wanna make you my famous dalgona coffee.”

“Hm? You can cook?”

Wooyoung smacked Yeosang on the arm again. “You know I cook! I mean, I can cook a few things, not a lot—but that’s not the point. Now let me make you dalgona coffee. Stand there—“ he pointed to the spot next to him “—and don’t move.”

Yeosang stood where Wooyoung wanted him to, hardly able to suppress his smile. Wooyoung got out a mug and a single glass and asked Yeosang, “You got milk?”

Yeosang pointed to the mini fridge in the corner. Wooyoung poured both him and Yeosang a cup. Then Wooyoung got out the ingredients Yeosang suspected he would need to make whatever he wanted to make.

Yeosang was surprised he even had half the things Wooyoung got out, but guessed it was his roommate’s doing. He picked up the small sachets of instant coffee, mumbling to himself, “San probably stocked up.”

“Where is San, by the way?” Wooyoung asked as he began to shake a coffee sachet. “Is he still at Mingi and Yunho’s dorm?”

Yeosang hummed. He and Wooyoung had basically sexiled him out of his and Yeosang’s dorm last night, and from what Yunho told him, he’d run up to his and Mingi’s dorm room to stay the night there. Yeosang felt bad, but he knew San wouldn’t have taken the situation to heart. After all, San had essentially fake gagged and bolted out the room when Wooyoung came in, already knowing what would happen before it even happened.

“Do you have a bowl?” Wooyoung asked.

Yeosang pointed to the singular pot on top of the microwave. Wooyoung sighed dejectedly, bringing that onto the counter as he poured his ingredients in. When he was done with that, he asked Yeosang, “Do you have a whisk?”

Yeosang looked around, but when he didn’t find what Wooyoung needed, he instead gave him a set of unopened chopsticks, a sheepish smile on his face. Wooyoung sighed again, but accepted it nonetheless and used them.

Two minutes had passed when Yeosang patted Wooyoung on the shoulder. The younger was busily whisking away with the chopsticks, and almost seemed as though he forgot Yeosang was even there. “Hey, go brush your teeth, wash up. I’ll whisk it for you,” he told Wooyoung.

Wooyoung’s head darted to Yeosang, and Yeosang nearly started, fearful that he’d accidentally pulled something in his neck with how fast he’d moved. “No, I need to keep whisking. I have my own technique and you’ll probably mess it up if you took over,” Wooyoung explained, adamant.

“Come on, it can’t be that big of a difference,” Yeosang said, inspecting the way Wooyoung whisked the mixture. Nothing about the way he was doing it seemed peculiar or unique, but he didn’t bother to verbalise the thought. “I’m literally saving you an arm workout _and_ your time.”

Wooyoung didn’t listen to him. Yeosang tried again.

“Hey. If you love me you’ll go do your morning routine.”

Wooyoung abruptly stopped whisking and lightly stomped his foot on the ground, an annoyed look on his face. “Come on. You know that’s not how it works.”

Yeosang turned his head away as he snickered, but looked back at Wooyoung when the younger stuck his lip out in a pout. Yeosang leaned in and kissed it.

Wooyoung pressed further into him before Yeosang could move back, and Yeosang felt him smiling against his lips. But just as Yeosang was about to deepen the kiss, already tilting his head to the side, Wooyoung pulled away. He rested his forehead on Yeosang’s. “What happened to morning breath?” Wooyoung asked him.

Yeosang moved back and shrugged sheepishly, unable to disguise the warmth he felt in his chest. Wooyoung’s momentary happiness flashed to disappointment, shaking his head at Yeosang before he got back to whisking.

“Then no,” Wooyoung said childishly. “At the moment, I don’t love you.”

Yeosang gave a contemptuous snort. “Okay, be like that,” he quipped before he started for the bed.

Before he could even take a second step, however, Wooyoung shot out a hand and grabbed Yeosang’s waist. “No no no, wait, I’m nearly done,” he said quickly, ushering Yeosang back to his spot. Yeosang watched Wooyoung scoop up the whipped coffee with his chopsticks (he had absolutely no idea how he’d managed to do it, but didn’t comment) and drop a few dollops of it onto the surface of the milk in the mug. It wasn’t satisfying by any means, but he wasn’t about to say that aloud, either.

“See? That’s my famous dalgona coffee,” Wooyoung said, smiling proudly. He held out the mug with the whipped coffee on top. “Try.”

Yeosang took it hesitantly, and pressed the rim to his lips while Wooyoung looked at him expectantly. He took a slight sip, and his immediate instinct was to grimace, so he did.

Wooyoung noticed, then gasped. “Maybe I didn’t stir it well enough,” he said, then tried to grab the mug. Yeosang moved away quick enough so that Wooyoung didn’t, then shook his head.

“It’s good,” he told Wooyoung, then paused for effect. “Not.”

Wooyoung gasped again, becoming slack jawed for a moment before he smacked Yeosang on the arm again. “You’re shitting me. It can’t be that bad, right?”

Yeosang fake grimaced again, this time scrunching his nose. “Wrong. It tastes like feet.”

Wooyoung pouted again, brows pulling together in a frown. Yeosang smiled, then made a show of trying to pour the coffee in the bin. Wooyoung took the mug out of Yeosang’s hand before he could go any further. Yeosang barely contained his laughter.

Wooyoung stirred the coffee with the chopsticks and took a sip of it, his face scrunched up in concentration as he assessed the taste. Yeosang started when Wooyoung stomped his foot on the ground again, and this time Wooyoung almost looked genuinely annoyed. “It tastes the same as how I usually make it!” he wailed, gesturing to the mug in his hand. “I know you’re just shitting me.”

Yeosang took the mug out of Wooyoung’s hands and actually sipped the coffee. It did truly taste pretty good, but it was hard to avoid the chance to annoy Wooyoung like this, especially when it was right in front of him. “It tastes good, Wooyoungie,” he muttered, then pressed a kiss to Wooyoung’s forehead. “Now go wash up. I can guarantee I’ll have finished this by the time you come out.”

Wooyoung glanced down at the ground, almost as if he was embarrassed, then smiled shyly before he went to the bathroom.

In truth, Yeosang only drank about half his coffee by the time Wooyoung finished up, but it didn’t seem as though Wooyoung cared. If anything, he seemed to be focused on something else completely.

“I brushed my teeth,” Wooyoung said in a pleased fashion, smiling. He took a sip of his own coffee in the glass. “You can kiss me now.”

Yeosang put his mug down and leaned in as if to kiss him on the lips, but before they could make any proper contact, he quickly swerved to the side and kissed the corner of Wooyoung’s mouth. Smiling impishly, he said, “Nope. You’ve got coffee breath.”

Wooyoung hit him on the shoulder this time, lips curled in disgust. Yeosang laughed before he swiftly left a peck on Wooyoung’s mouth.

“You feel better now?” Yeosang asked.

Wooyoung pressed his lips into a thin line as if in thought, then clasped Yeosang’s hand so that he could tug him forward and bring their bodies together. Yeosang’s arms went around Wooyoung’s waist while Wooyoung threw his arms around his neck.

“Not quite,” Wooyoung murmured, beaming brightly before he pressed his lips to Yeosang’s. Yeosang kissed him back, and before he knew it, the kiss was over and they were already pulling away, breaths mingling.

Yeosang made a fake show of gagging and moving his head to the side, muttering, “Coffee breath, oh God, the coffee breath…”

Wooyoung only giggled this time before he dragged Yeosang towards his bed and kissed him again, only this time it was a bit more fervent, a bit more intimate. Yeosang pulled back after a moment to let them both breathe, but couldn’t help the happy smile that made its way onto his face as he looked Wooyoung in the eye, couldn’t help the fluttering sensation that took over his chest. Couldn’t help kissing Wooyoung once again, reveling in the pleasant warmth he felt whenever he was with him.

♤ ♤ ♤

The sensation of someone tightening their hold on him roused San. He sprang up with a start, glancing down at the body next to him on the bed. It was Mingi.

Mingi’s eyes started fluttering open, and San flopped back down onto the bed. He turned his back to Mingi. “Oh. It’s just you,” San muttered under his breath.

He felt his heartbeat slow down. It was just Mingi.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Mingi replied groggily.

San threw a glance over his shoulder at Mingi, grimacing as he did so, a shaft of sunlight from a crack in the curtains going right into his eyes. “How did I get here?” he asked Mingi. He found that his tone was surprisingly calm, contradictory to the confusion he felt. “As far as I’m concerned, I was on the floor when I fell asleep.”

Mingi groaned, and he felt him stretch behind him. San let out a pained groan when Mingi dropped his arm over San’s waist, trapping him. San didn’t bother to move it off him.

“Don’t you remember?” Mingi said. “You found me awake at 3AM and asked if I could sleep with you because you apparently need something to hold onto when you sleep. Then you said you didn’t wanna bother Yunho because he was already asleep. So I let you sleep with me.”

San tried to recall the situation, inwardly tracing his steps back from when he rushed into Yunho and Mingi’s dorm because Yeosang had sexiled him (once again). The last thing he could remember was falling asleep on the floor to save Yunho and Mingi the inconvenience of sharing a bed, but that was where it ended. He didn’t remember asking Mingi if he could sleep with him in the middle of the night.

But with the way Mingi was explaining it, he didn’t sound like he was lying. So for now, he was going to believe him.

“Oh,” San said, and a weird feeling settled in his chest. He looked around from his vantage point on the bed, and saw that Yunho was sleeping opposite them, his face lax.

A realisation struck him then. What would Yunho think if he saw them like this?

San sat back up again, effectively shoving Mingi’s arm off him. He looked down at Mingi. He was still half asleep. “Hey, get up. Let’s get breakfast,” San said. “They usually have good food around this time in the morning.”

Mingi grunted and turned away so that his back was to San. In an attempt to get him to get up, San tried to grab Mingi’s hands and drag him up. The endeavour failed, however, when Mingi tugged San so that he lay on top of him.

“This is not the time for sleeping in, Mingi-yah,” San grunted, half-heartedly pulling his hands back. “Let’s get all the good food from the cafeteria before everyone else does.”

That seemed to wake Mingi up, because he shot up into a sitting position, nearly knocking his head on San’s. San laughed before he got off the bed and slid his slippers on, hearing shuffling in the back from where Mingi was.

Mingi grabbed his phone and slippers and slung an arm around San’s shoulders. San saw him throw a cursory glance towards Yunho’s sleeping form. Just as San was about to speak, Mingi beat him to it.

“Don’t worry about him. He needs the sleep—he’s been stressing over his genetics exam for lord knows how long. We’ll get him something when we come back,” Mingi said.

San took that as a reasonable explanation, then nodded before he looped his arm around Mingi’s and guided them down to the cafeteria.

“Do you normally wake up this early on a Saturday?” Mingi asked, glancing at the time on his phone.

“Only for you, baby,” San joked, poking Mingi in the stomach. They pushed open the doors of the cafeteria, and San was surprised that there were less people here than there normally was. He made an effort not to mull over it, not missing the chance to drag Mingi over to the queue before anyone else could, tugging him by the wrist.

San grabbed two trays as Mingi scanned the variety of food displayed behind the glass. Mingi looked at San after he’d taken a good look at all of them. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner that they have all this food in the morning?” he asked San. “I’d have come here so much more often.”

San sighed before he pinched Mingi on the cheek, cooing softly when Mingi made a face. From the corner of his eye, he saw a girl next to him give them both a weird look.

“That’s ‘cause you and Yunho are giant sleepyheads,” San said, nudging Mingi when the line moved up. “Maybe if you actually listened to your alarms, you’d know. Early bird gets the worm, kinda literally.”

They picked food onto their trays in relative silence, with San sometimes pointing to a certain food telling Mingi it was good and that he should try it. San made sure to take a few extra servings to take back for Yunho. Mingi did the same.

“Not gonna lie, kinda glad Yeosang sexiled you last night,” Mingi said as they picked out a table to sit on. “Otherwise I would’ve never discovered this.”

“Wow, so you want me to experience the hell that is Yeosang and Wooyoung’s aggressive PDA more often? Just so that I can get you food?”

“Essentially, yeah.”

San kicked him under the table. Mingi only laughed, baring his teeth in a gummy smile. San smiled back subconsciously.

“Believe me,” San told him, swirling his juice around by twirling the cup in his hands. “You don’t wanna experience that. Hell, I’d like to see you get sexiled by Yunho sometime. Come running to me for help and shit.”

“No, I’d rather go to Seonghwa- and Hongjoong-hyung,” Mingi countered coolly. “They’re way more trustworthy when it comes to hospitality. At least one of them doesn’t make completely combustible trash whenever they cook.”

“You’re talking?” San kicked him again, watched how Mingi burst out laughing. A couple of students looked their way, but San paid them no mind.

“What are they like, hm?” Mingi asked after he sobered up, raising an eyebrow. “Yeosang and Wooyoung. I mean, together. Does Yeosang drop the impassive facade and act all sappy and lovey dovey around Wooyoung? Does he become talkative like when he’s drunk? And what’s Wooyoung like? A borderline public nuisance like always?”

San gave him a sardonic smile before he rolled his eyes. “You’re asking me all this as if I’m in the relationship with them.”

“Well, before Wooyoung, you and Yeosang were kinda glued together by the hips. I’d expect you’d know at least some of Yeosang’s characteristics when he’s with someone he likes.”

San thought about it for a moment. “Well, yeah, I guess he’s talkative, but not as much as when he drinks. And Wooyoung is just… the same? I dunno. I guess he gets more clingy. I usually exit the room before anything legitimately frisky happens.”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, silently eating their breakfast. Mingi spoke up after a moment or two.

“Do you think they’re loud?” he asked San.

“Hm?”

“Do you think they’re loud? Like, in bed.”

Shock rendered San nearly still, only his mouth dropping open. He didn’t even bother kicking the other boy in the shin under the table, merely gasping, “Mingi!”

Mingi was able to suppress his laughter this time, but still grinned widely. “Scandalous, huh,” he mumbled playfully.

San threatened Mingi by holding up his cup of juice in the air as if to throw it at him. “I don’t know what on earth made you say that, but God—Mingi, I don’t know why you even _care_ —”

“I _don’t_ , my goodness.” Mingi put a hand over his heart, as if offended San would say such a thing. “I just wanted to see how you’d react.”

San scowled.

Mingi laughed again, but this time he managed to quieten himself down before anyone else looked their way. “So it’s bad, huh? Do they, like, not care whether you’re around or not?”

“I dunno,” San admitted, slumping in his seat. More students were entering the cafeteria now. “But I wish they did.”

“Aw, is Sannie sad because Yeosang can’t take the hint and get a room?” Mingi teased, nudging San’s foot under the table. San tried to push his foot away with his own, but Mingi persisted. After a while, he stopped trying to play footsies with Mingi, and just let him rest his foot on his.

“I’m not _sad_ ,” San rebutted, his tone serious. Something uncomfortable installed itself into his stomach, and he momentarily felt a bitter taste in his mouth. He figured he was rightfully cemented in his annoyance; after all, he’d basically been kicked out of his own dorm room because his roommate wanted to do whatever with his boyfriend. “I just—I dunno. I wish Yeosangie was a bit more considerate.”

Mingi looked a little puzzled at San’s statement. “Yeosang? Are you sure? I thought he was the type to be one of the most considerate, if not the most…”

His words slowly settled into San’s mind, and soon enough, he realised what he was doing wrong.

“Oh, God,” San breathed. “Wow. Yeosangie’s not that clingy. Hell, Yeosangie isn’t even the problem. It’s _Wooyoung_.”

Mingi gasped, and San knew instantly that he was faking it. So he gasped back, then covered his mouth with his palm to further exaggerate his own feigned shock.

“Wow, shocker,” Mingi said, faking a surprised tone. San couldn’t help but laugh. “So you don’t like Wooyoung?”

San huffed out a breath. “I don’t—ugh, I don’t _not_ like him, but… he’s nice to me and stuff, but he’s just—”

“You can be honest with me, San-ah,” Mingi told San coolly, leaning back in his seat. “I don’t judge.”

“Oh, please, I know you’d be the first person to judge me, you big baby.” San leaned in and flicked Mingi on the forehead, then swiftly moved back into his seat before Mingi could retaliate. “But, yeah. I mean, no, I don’t have a problem with Wooyoung.”

“So if you don’t dislike Wooyoung…” Mingi paused, and then his brows shot up as realisation seemed to have struck him. “Oh, God. I know what it is.”

San lifted a questioning eyebrow at him.

Mingi leaned in dramatically, his palm on the table. “You don’t have a problem with Wooyoung or Yeosang, but rather their relationship.”

San didn’t bother to comment, instead waited for Mingi to go on. Soon, however, he realised that staying silent was a bad decision.

“Oh, my God, Sannie—” Mingi covered his mouth with his palm, and this time, he didn’t seem to be feigning his shock. “Oh, my _God_ , do you like Yeosang? Do you like Wooyoung?”

“Huh? No,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly.

Mingi slammed his hand down on the table in surprise, and this time he attracted a lot more people than before. San squirmed in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable.

“No _way_ ,” Mingi said. San saw his eyes crinkle up, a smile just about to present itself on his face. “You like one of them?”

“ _No_ , I don’t,” San said calmly, making the conscious decision to stall telling Mingi what he thought was the truth. “I like Yeosang as a friend, but nothing more.”

“So you like Wooyoung.”

“What? _No_ , I like them both as friends.”

“Uh-huh.”

San pursed his lips. This current situation felt a little too similar to the things he saw in movies. Something weird settled in his stomach, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it.

“It’s just a friendship jealousy thing,” San confessed slowly after a moment. “I’m not used to Yeosang giving most, if not all of his attention to someone he loves romantically. And yeah, since I’m not used to it, I miss him. I miss when it was just—just me and him, I think. Maybe I’m overreacting; or maybe I’ll get over it quick enough. I dunno.”

Instead of a teasing insult, all Mingi gave San in response was silence. San couldn’t figure out if that was a good or bad thing, but the least he got from it was that Mingi was beginning to take him seriously.

“Hmm,” Mingi said after a moment. He tilted his head a little to the side, as if in thought. “I guess… talk to him. Talking it out helps everything, right? You’ve heard his from everyone else, but communication really is key.”

A sigh escaped San, and he slumped a little more in his seat. “You have a point. Wow, Mingi, for once you actually make sense.”

Mingi’s pensive expression flashed to annoyance. “So I don’t make sense the rest of the time?” he queried, affronted.

“Not really, no.”

Mingi tried to kick San under the table, but San was too fast for him. Mingi’s offence didn’t last however, because he went on. “I think you should talk to Seonghwa-hyung about it,” he said to San. “Jongho seems like he’d know what to do as well—the ever wise gym freak he is. Hell, even Hongjoong-hyung maybe, if you manage to catch him not caffeinated to the bone.”

That did enough to distract San from his temporary discomfort. He leaned in with his arm outstretched, and had to stifle his laughter when Mingi flinched before San could even touch him. Instead of flicking him this time, however, he merely pinched Mingi’s cheeks in an affectionate fashion.

“You big baby,” San gushed softly, smiling. “Thanks for listening to me. I appreciate it.”

Mingi barely suppressed his scoff. “So apparently I’m only of use to you when you need counselling in regards to who you have a crush on. Nice.”

“Hey—I never said you were _that_ useless.”

“That’s what you were implying,” Mingi said matter-of-factly, smirking. “But anyways, I’m a godsend, clearly. Lord knows what you would’ve been doing if it weren’t for me being here to help you vent.”

San was about to part his lips to say something, but Mingi continued.

“But,” Mingi paused for theatrical effect, making very brief eye contact with San, “something tells me you’re not completely done talking to me.”

San blinked. “Well, I’m still here, so I guess not.”

Mingi rolled his eyes. “Not what I meant.” He breathed out a sigh. “I feel like there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

In a feeble attempt to stall, San kept silent, simply looking Mingi in the eye. San broke eye contact after a long, tense moment, bringing his cup of juice up to his lips.

“Tell me,” Mingi said, “when did you start liking Yeosang? Was it a while ago? Was it last week? Was it when he got drunk and subtly-but-not-so-subtly told you that he wanted to fuck you?”

San sputtered out his juice and coughed on it, attracting the attention from a few people from the neighbouring tables. At this point, the students that had been glancing at them before now had their eyes all but glued to the two of them, a lot of the reactions bordering on that of annoyance, mingled with fascination. Mingi did little to stifle his laughter, his shoulders shaking as he tossed his head back.

“Did you have to say it that loud?” San hissed once he’d recovered from nearly choking on his drink. “My God, Mingi—maybe you aren’t that useful after all…”

“You’re not denying it!” Mingi exclaimed. “Oh, my God, so you _do_ like Yeosangie…”

San glared at him. “Well, when your roommate tells you that they wouldn’t mind taking you to bed with them, you’d be sort of surprised at the sort of conflict it brings to your feelings. Honestly! Think about it. What if Yunho said that to you? If one of your best friends told you that they wouldn’t mind sleeping with you. How would you feel?”

“Well, first of all, Yunho wouldn’t say that; he’s got the alcohol tolerance of a rock,” Mingi pointed out calmly. “Second, I wouldn’t feel anything if he said that to me, because I don’t like him like that in the first place.”

San opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. He thought about what to say, but found he couldn’t quite articulate any of his thoughts.

Was Mingi seeing something he wasn’t?

San blinked once before he snapped out of it. He picked up what servings of food he’d chosen out for Yunho and stood up. He shot Mingi a hard look. “I think we should go up. Yunho would’ve woken up by now, I think,” he said.

Before Mingi could reply, San grabbed his and Mingi’s trays and deposited them to the front counter. He just barely heard Mingi scuttling towards him from behind.

When they both exited the cafeteria, Mingi soon caught up with San speedily walking back towards the dorms. He wrapped an arm around San’s shoulders once again, then said, “It’s okay, San-ah. I think you should figure some of this out by yourself, talk to Yeosang and if you ever need me or Yunho or anyone else, you know we’re here, right?”

San swallowed, then let out all his pent up breath in a sigh. “I know, Mingi.”

He didn’t. At least, not really.

♤ ♤ ♤

Yeosang’s eyes went to the ceiling. It was the only thing he could look at properly in his position, and he wasn’t in the mood to move. Wooyoung seemed to share his sentiment, slumping on top of Yeosang’s chest.

“I don’t wanna move,” Wooyoung grunted.

“Neither,” Yeosang replied. His hand instinctively went to stroke Wooyoung’s hair.

It was early afternoon, and they’d just finished breakfast. Yeosang suspected in the back of his mind that San should be heading back soon (he’d once again kicked himself out of the dorm room for the night), since he normally didn’t like spending too much time at Mingi and Yunho’s dorm or Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s apartment, fearful that they’d find his recurring presence annoying.

Yeosang felt Wooyoung prop his head up, his chin now resting on his chest. He didn’t quite bother to look at him, already perhaps a little too invested in staring at the endless abyss that was the ceiling. His hand dropped onto Wooyoung’s back.

“Do you think San gets annoyed that we kick him out so often?” Wooyoung asked softly.

Yeosang nodded, gaze still directed skywards. “I think you should stop spending the night so often. He’s going to think I don’t like him anymore.”

“Well, then you can always come over to my dorm.” Wooyoung used a finger to trace figure eights on Yeosang’s chest. Yeosang had to tense his upper body to try and fight off how much it tickled him. “Yeonjun wouldn’t mind staying with us—he doesn’t hate PDA as much as San does, and he’s also willing to kick himself out.”

“I think you’re missing the point,” Yeosang laughed. He had to shift his legs around in an attempt to distract himself from Wooyoung still drawing things onto him. It was ticklish beyond belief, and he was surprised that he wasn’t practically writhing under Wooyoung already. “If I stay the night at your dorm, that means San will be left alone. I feel like that’s more of a trashy thing to do in comparison to kicking him out.”

“Hmm, you have a point,” Wooyoung murmured. “My friend Changbin kinda had this same problem as well, except his case was a bit more extreme. My dude was driven mad. It’s like his roommate’s significant other lived with them as well.”

Yeosang chuckled quietly. “No, you still live in your dorm and I still live in mine, okay? I think San’s been feeling kinda off lately as well, and I think it’s because he’s always having to move out and about to look for a place to sleep. How about next week, no sleepovers? For San and Yeonjun’s sakes?”

Wooyoung thankfully stopped using his finger to trace things and simply rested his palm on Yeosang’s chest. Yeosang hoped subconsciously that Wooyoung didn’t hear his sigh of relief.

“I dunno. I’ve gotten so used to being this close to you. Almost like we live together,” Wooyoung said.

Yeosang couldn’t help but agree with him. These past few weeks have simply just been them clinging to each other in any given situation, and Yeosang got used to it a lot quicker than he originally thought he would.

“I know, Wooyoung,” Yeosang said in a low murmur. “But we’ve got to stop giving San all this constant inconvenience. Presumably Yeonjun as well, but I haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“No, he’s doing fine,” Wooyoung confirmed. He laid his cheek back down on Yeosang’s chest, and Yeosang put his hand in Wooyoung’s hair again, caressing it softly between his fingers. “Can we talk about something else? All this negativity makes me not want to get up more.”

“Hm, okay.” Yeosang used that same hand to graze his fingers over the swells of Wooyoung’s cheekbones. “I’ve got a question for you. How are you so extroverted? You’re always making friends left and right.”

He felt Wooyoung’s laugh under his hand, breath brushing against it. “I have no idea, honestly. I just talk to people, and they talk to me.”

“Socialising must be easy for you then.”

“Kinda. Oh, but that doesn’t mean I don’t struggle with those things introverts do,” Wooyoung added rather hastily, as if having deduced that’s what Yeosang was hinting at.

Yeosang almost always immediately assumed every extrovert he met had more than commendable social skills—which was true, for the most part—and didn’t really bother to consider whether they experienced the same social struggles introverts did. Though, now that he thought about it, it wasn’t as though he intentionally didn’t bother to consider it. The thought simply went over his head.

“Elaborate,” Yeosang prompted.

“Like small little things that are kinda at the back of your head, but still there. Like, you know when you’re walking with two other people and they’re walking a little towards the front, and you’re just kinda awkwardly standing behind them and also in between them? Not even, sometimes you’re just next to them, but not on the footpath. Like, just a little to the side.”

Yeosang nodded enthusiastically, wholeheartedly agreeing with what Wooyoung was saying to the point a memory of the exact same scenario came to the forefront of his mind. It had happened to him so many times before, and he was mildly surprised Wooyoung could describe the situation like he was as experienced in social struggles as Yeosang was.

“I would’ve thought you would be the kind of person that was in the front,” Yeosang said to him, caressing his cheek once more. “Aren’t you an extrovert?”

“I am, but I think we’ve all experienced that before,” Wooyoung answered. “Or when you’re trying to say something to a group of people but then everyone kinda keeps on cutting you off and then you kinda just. Stop talking for a bit.”

Yeosang stopped gazing at the ceiling and briefly lifted his head to look at Wooyoung. All he saw was the crown of his head, but that didn’t stop him from frowning. “You? In that situation? I would’ve thought you were the one cutting people off. You’re so loud all the time.”

“Well, yeah, I won’t lie—I have been that other person, but I’ve also been the quiet person from time to time as well.”

“For some reason I find that incredibly hard to believe. I can’t picture you to be quiet at all.”

“I can be quiet,” Wooyoung huffed. “I just like being loud and the centre of attention more than that.”

“I know,” Yeosang said. He strained his neck a little to press a kiss to Wooyoung’s head before he dropped it on the pillow again and continued staring up above.

Wooyoung sighed. “Not only the quiet thing, though. I’ve heard some people tell me that they think all extroverts have solid friend groups, but not really. I mean, not me. There was this one time in middle school where I somehow got dragged into this one group of really quiet people and I just—I dunno. I didn’t vibe, y’know? Felt like an anomaly.”

“Sounds like a ‘you’ problem,” Yeosang commented under his breath playfully. Wooyoung lightly pinched his wrist. Yeosang didn’t flinch.

“Yeah, it was a me problem, but that’s besides the point,” Wooyoung said sullenly. “I don’t even know how that happened, though. Just a loud kid within a group of really quiet other kids. Weird. An anomaly.”

Yeosang hummed. “I guess we’re all anomalies at some point. Or we feel like one.”

“I guess we do, Yeosangie.”

Yeosang felt Wooyoung prop his head up again. With a smile on his face, Yeosang said, “Kinda like that ace of spades in your wallet.”

“Hm, yeah. Kinda like that ace of spades,” Wooyoung muttered.

Something in his chest fluttered, and Yeosang felt his heart skip a beat.

“I feel like anomalies can be good things too,” Yeosang murmured. “I sometimes think it’s the small little discrepancies in life that’s… how do I say it? Small little discrepancies holding me together. Like, San, for example. His tendency to get things done quickly is kind of the only thing that’s motivating and inspiring me to get my own things done in engineering.”

“I see that. Like Hongjoong- and Seonghwa-hyung. Maybe Seonghwa-hyung’s tendency to take care of people is saving Hongjoong from completely dying of sleep deprivation.” Wooyoung laughed. “Anomalies in the form of a thread holding us all together.”

Yeosang didn’t say it out loud, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt that one of the main anomalies holding him stable was Wooyoung. Wooyoung was his thread.

“Are you hearing what we’re saying?” Yeosang asked, chuckling under his breath. “We sound so weird.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t mind sounding weirder than all the weirdest things in the world if it meant I got to be weird with you.”

“Sap.”

“You love me.”

Wooyoung moved a hand up so that it was on Yeosang’s chest again, and began tracing circles.

Yeosang’s other hand shot up and grabbed Wooyoung’s wrist before he could go any further.

Wooyoung blinked once, then seemed to figure it out. “Oh, my God—you’re _ticklish_.”

“No, I’m not,” Yeosang said, a little too fast.

Wooyoung’s face burst into a smile. “You’re ticklish!”

Despite how lethargic he may have felt in that moment, Yeosang used what strength he could to push Wooyoung to the side so that he was lying next to him. Yeosang held up a finger in a chastising fashion. “Don’t you dare,” he threatened.

Wooyoung opened his mouth as if to speak, but then closed it slowly, like he was reevaluating his word choice. He sighed and snuggled back up to Yeosang again, trapping Yeosang under him as he once again laid his head on his chest. Yeosang tried to shove him off again, but Wooyoung wrapped his arms around his waist before Yeosang’s endeavours made any real impact.

“Oh, quit it, would you?” Wooyoung huffed. “On a normal day I would tickle you, but I’m tired. You fell asleep at 2AM last night while I fell asleep at 4. On another day I’ll tickle you.”

Yeosang had a very good feeling that the ‘another day’ he was talking about would most likely be tomorrow, at the very least. He made sure to savour this moment, silently reveling in the warmth Wooyoung provided. Yeosang had long since kicked his blanket away in the middle of the night, somehow finding it difficult to get comfortable in it. Wooyoung was a good substitute, he thought.

In the silence that ensued, Yeosang’s mind wandered a little. He tried to remember what life was like before Wooyoung, before he’d broken his drone, before he’d even met him, but found that he couldn’t quite recall it. He could see memories of the times it was just the seven of them (a number bigger than that if Yeonjun or someone else wanted to join, but that was somewhat rare), but for a reason he couldn’t quite name, couldn’t remember what it felt like.

Yeosang couldn’t remember the real reason he had for not liking Wooyoung. He couldn’t remember why he didn’t always love him as much as he does now. He couldn’t remember not caring about his opinion. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t think about him almost every hour of the day. He couldn’t remember what he felt before the slow—yet certain—descent that would result in him being all but a fool for Wooyoung.

The time before Wooyoung seemed like a distant memory now, even if it hadn’t even been that long since it started.

More than that, Yeosang couldn’t imagine himself loving anyone other than Wooyoung. The temporary relationships he had had in high school and freshman year were out of the question now—he had known even before they’d happened he wouldn’t be all too invested in them, at least not as much as he was invested in Wooyoung.

He couldn’t think of anyone else he could love like this. It seemed a little crazy even to him, but he couldn’t even conjure up an image of a person better than Wooyoung, in any regard. There was nothing about him, no part of him, that he would have wanted different, or changed. In his eyes, Wooyoung was a serendipity of sorts. In his eyes, Wooyoung was perfect.

Yeosang’s eyes flickered down, where he saw Wooyoung’s black crown once again. He wondered just briefly what he had done to deserve someone as beautiful as Wooyoung.

“Yeosangie,” Wooyoung cooed.

“Yeah?”

“Can we get fried chicken tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“And can you teach me how to skate while we’re at it?”

Yeosang’s brows furrowed. “I’m guessing you saw the skateboard in the wardrobe.”

He felt Wooyoung shake his head. “No, Mingi told me that you sometimes skate when you’re angry to get your mind off things.” Wooyoung sighed. “So yeah, if you’ve got your skateboard, you can teach me how to skate.”

Yeosang thought about it, imagining Wooyoung on a skateboard and him being severely off balance at the start. He imagined Wooyoung screaming for his life whenever he felt like he lost control of the board and was left to grab onto Yeosang in an attempt to save himself. He thought of Wooyoung blaming Yeosang for his shortcomings in regards to skating and Yeosang rebutting by saying something like: “That seems like a ‘you’ problem.”

“Yeah,” Yeosang agreed. “Yeah, I’ll teach you how to skate.”

Wooyoung lifted his head once again, and this time scuttled over so that his head was directly suspended in front of Yeosang’s. The ceiling wasn’t in Yeosang’s direct line of sight anymore, but rather Wooyoung’s smiling face.

“You’re the best,” Wooyoung gushed before he cradled Yeosang’s head in his hands, his palms on his cheeks. He bent his head down and pressed his lips to Yeosang’s.

In the same moment Yeosang wrapped his arms around Wooyoung’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer, he heard the door open. Wooyoung quickly pulled away, while Yeosang simply turned his head to see who was there.

San stood there in the same clothes he’d been in last night right before he kicked himself out. He was holding a small plastic bag of what Yeosang presumed was food. He was staring at the two of them, a relatively blank expression on his face.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” San said dismissively, no doubt having noticed the position they were in. Yeosang noted the small, fleeting smile on his face that looked almost sarcastic. “I was just going to drop this off.”

“No, no, I need to go anyways,” Wooyoung chimed in before San could say any more. “San-ah, wait.”

Yeosang looked up at Wooyoung while San went towards the area where they normally stored all their food, and he could feel something in his own face change. He didn’t think Wooyoung would be leaving this soon, and he didn’t want him to go.

“I need to go study for a bit, Yeosangie. You can still text me, but I’ll probably reply later. Oh, don’t look at me like that, we’re going to get fried chicken tomorrow,” Wooyoung said, patting Yeosang’s cheek. Then Wooyoung planted a firm kiss on Yeosang’s lips before finishing off with a kiss on his cheek, a grin on his face. “See you later, Yeosangie.”

“Bye,” Yeosang murmured, pressing out a small smile. He stood up, stretching for a second before looking back at Wooyoung.

Wooyoung’s grin widened a fraction before he turned on his heel, but just when Yeosang thought he was about to walk off, Wooyoung faced him again.

“One last time,” Wooyoung whispered, wasting no time in closing the distance between them and kissing Yeosang once more.

This time, Yeosang didn’t bother being polite. He pulled Wooyoung closer to him so that their bodies were flush up against each other, one of his arms going around Wooyoung’s torso as the other went behind his head, his fingers threading through his black hair. Wooyoung held Yeosang’s face in his hands while Yeosang used his tongue to part Wooyoung’s lips, grinning when he heard a small sound coming from the back of Wooyoung’s throat.

The kiss ended almost as fast as it had started, and when Yeosang pulled away, they were both nearly breathless. Yeosang smiled at Wooyoung, just able to plant another small kiss on the corner of his lips.

“See you, Wooyoung,” he whispered, his breath mingling with the other boy’s. He let go of him, then put a hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder to guide him out the door, pushing him slightly once he reached the threshold.

Wooyoung quickly turned right before he made it completely out of the dorm room, then lightly poked Yeosang on the chest. With a smile, he departed, slightly skipping as he made his way to the elevator.

When Yeosang closed the door, he found San standing next to the microwave, something close to a grimace on his face. Smiling sheepishly, Yeosang said, “Sorry about that. You know how clingy he gets.”

“Yeah, maybe a little too well,” San said in a mock snappish tone, but smiled nonetheless. He gestured next to him where he positioned numerous instant ramen cups on top of the microwave in a stack. “I bought more ramen ‘cause we were about to run out. Oh, and I bought metal chopsticks too.”

He held them up in his hand, slightly waving them around. Yeosang nodded before he strode over to the microwave and picked out a cup of unopened ramen.

“Whose dorm did you sleep over at this time?” Yeosang asked in conversation, as he peeled open the packet. “Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s? Yeonjun’s dorm? Since Wooyoung’s always with me, he’s got a spare bed, doesn’t he?”

“Hm, yeah,” San said, “but no. I slept over at Mingi and Yunho’s, as usual.”

“Right.” Yeosang found a stray bottle of water and poured some of it into the cup of ramen before he put it in the microwave. “I’m sorry we keep kicking you out. You know it’s okay if you stay with us, right? You don’t have to keep sleeping at other people’s dorms.”

“I know, I know,” San replied, nodding his head. “But I just think it’s polite, y’know? You both clearly like spending time around each other, and I don’t wanna intrude on anything.”

His words resonated in Yeosang’s head. Was San really intruding on anything when the pair had clearly made out right in front of him just moments ago, knowing he was there?

“I’m sorry,” Yeosang apologised once more. “We’ll try and keep the PDA to a minimum.”

“No need.” San shook his head. “I mean, not that I _want_ you to make out with Wooyoung in front of me, but I’m just saying—”

Yeosang laughed. “I get what you mean.”

“I just don’t wanna be the one thing keeping you guys from being close to each other. I know you both like each other a lot and stuff…”

When San trailed off, Yeosang’s eyes found the floor. They fell into a comfortable silence before San broke it.

“Do you love him?” he asked Yeosang.

“Who? Wooyoung?”

“Yeah.”

Yeosang didn’t have to think about it; his answer was firm and instinctive, at the tip of his tongue. But when it came to vocalising, he found himself pursing his lips and averting his gaze. “Yeah, I love him,” he answered after a moment, almost shyly.

“Naw, our Yeosangie’s in love,” San cooed, reaching a hand out to gently pinch Yeosang’s cheek. Yeosang didn’t push him away, instead stared at him flatly. “Are you a complete fool for him, Yeosangie? Does he make you ‘happy’?”

Yeosang knew San was talking to him about it jokingly, but he couldn’t help but take his words to heart. “Yeah, he does,” he replied seriously, even through the playful smile on his face. “Wooyoung makes me happy.”

The answer was just as easy as the other one, if not more.

San nodded in affirmation, a grin on his lips. “That’s good to know. I’m glad he makes you happy, Yeosangie,” he said, then went over to give Yeosang a brief side hug. “I’m gonna study for a bit here. You wanna join?”

He turned to San with a nod of the head, saying, “I kinda need to. Yeah, I’ll join you.”

The pair sat on their respective beds with their laptops and notes out and got to studying in a rather short amount of time. Yeosang made sure to turn off his Wi-Fi on his phone just so that he didn’t get distracted from any potential texts Wooyoung may have wanted to send him (even though he himself had to fight off his own urge to text him first as well), and found that it was considerably more productive when he wasn’t completely engrossed in Wooyoung.

By the time two hours passed, Yeosang felt like his brain had been deep fried by all the information he’d been absorbing. When he looked up from his notebook to his screen, he felt an oddly uncomfortable sensation at the back of his head, and he knew he had to take a break sooner than later.

San seemed to notice Yeosang’s discomfort way before he himself did, and made his way towards him. He patted Yeosang’s head and closed his laptop screen for him. Yeosang looked up, finding a concerned look on his face.

“I think you should take a break,” San said plainly, gesturing vaguely to the study space he’d made for himself on his bed. “You’re gonna break your brain if you don’t stop for at least five minutes.”

Yeosang blinked and snapped out of it. He stared at San for a second more before he set his laptop aside and moved his books to the side of the bed. San had to push him down by the shoulders so Yeosang actually was lying down.

“Take a nap, Yeosangie,” San muttered. “I’ll wake you up in, like, fifteen minutes if you want. But you should set an alarm—you know, in case I fall asleep, too.”

Yeosang managed a small smile before he closed his eyes, the sleep not quite catching up to him yet. He heard San shuffling around near him, most likely organising Yeosang’s stationery for him.

“San-ah, leave it,” Yeosang mumbled. “I’ll come back to it later.”

Yeosang did not end up going back to it later. At least, not as soon as he thought he would.

When he woke up, San was also fast asleep in his own bed, his forearm draped across his face to muffle his barely-there snores. Blinking away the bleariness in his eyes and sitting up, Yeosang checked his phone. They’d been sleeping for about an hour. The evening had come, and so had a myriad of texts from Wooyoung.

> **wooyoung, 8:56 PM**  
>  yeosang
> 
> **wooyoung, 8:56 PM**  
>  yeosang
> 
> **wooyoung, 8:56 PM**  
>  yeosang
> 
> **wooyoung, 8:56 PM**  
>  yeosang!!!!
> 
> **wooyoung, 8:57 PM**  
>  are u sleeping

Yeosang began typing.

> **yeosang, 9:01 PM**  
>  i was
> 
> **yeosang, 9:01 PM**  
>  what do you want
> 
> **wooyoung, 9:01 PM**  
>  what’s ur fav colour
> 
> **yeosang, 9:02 PM**  
>  black and red
> 
> **yeosang, 9:02 PM**  
>  what for?
> 
> **wooyoung, 9:04 PM**  
>  nothing
> 
> **wooyoung, 9:04 PM**  
>  just realised i don’t know ur fav colour, ‘tis all :]

Yeosang smiled at the screen and sent Wooyoung another small string of messages before he turned off his phone and looked back at San. He was still deep asleep, not having noticed Yeosang shuffling around. Yeosang stretched a little more before he stood up and gently shook San’s shoulders.

“San-ah,” he called softly. When San’s eyes opened just a fraction, Yeosang lifted his phone and turned it on, showing him the time. “You should wake up.”

San grunted, but just as Yeosang was about to stand up and head to the bathroom, San wrapped an arm around Yeosang’s neck while the other went around his arm and tugged. Before Yeosang saw it coming, his face was buried in San’s sweater clad shoulder.

Yeosang tried to detach himself, but stopped when San clung to him. “San-ah, I need to go to the toilet,” he said into his shoulder. “San-ah, I’m going to piss on you if you don’t let me go.”

Yeosang didn’t know what he expected, but he was at least fast enough to catch his footing when San abruptly pushed him away. San sat up and pointed to the bathroom indignantly, and Yeosang didn’t need to be told anymore, walking over while stifling a laugh.

By the time Yeosang made it out, San was at the microwave in the process of taking something out. He saw Yeosang and somehow fumbled, and before either of them could comprehend it, San had spilt hot water over his hand.

San let out a loud yelp as Yeosang rushed over to him, grabbing the closest thing to a bandage he could find—two tissues. He pressed them to the back of San’s hand where the damage was as San hissed in pain.

“What were you even doing?” Yeosang asked, even though he knew the answer.

“I was just taking out my ramen,” San replied, his face pinched in discomfort. Yeosang lifted the tissue from San’s skin, and saw that it was just a splotch of red. “I dunno—I guess I just lost my grip or something…”

Yeosang examined San’s hand for just another second. He knew it wasn’t all that serious of an injury, but he figured it would help if Yunho was here. He would probably know how to calm San down, and would no doubt know what to do, considering he was studying this stuff in the first place. “Don’t worry about it,” Yeosang said. “Just put it under cold water for a moment, it should be good.”

“God, I hope so,” San mumbled, studying his hand for himself. “If only Yunho was here…”

He stalked off into the bathroom and left Yeosang where he stood. Yeosang peered into San’s cup of ramen and saw that not a lot of water was missing, and guessed that most of what had been missing went to San’s hand.

Some time passed before Yeosang heard his phone ringing from where it was on his bed. Walking over to it, he saw the caller ID displaying Wooyoung’s name.

He felt his heart skip a beat and couldn’t repress the smile on his face. He answered and brought the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, Yeosangie…”

Yeosang heard a light raspy edge to his voice, but decided not to mull over it. The smile on his face widened instinctively. “Hi! Did you call me for something? D’you need anything or—?”

There was a breathy chuckle from the other end, and Yeosang’s smile slowly slipped off his face. Wooyoung didn’t normally laugh like that.

“I just—” Wooyoung cut himself off, and Yeosang heard coarse breathing for a few seconds before he continued. “Just do me a favour and get here before the ambulance, would you?”

Yeosang frowned and pulled the phone away from his ear so that he could see the caller ID. It was still Wooyoung’s name as he’d saved it on his phone.

He brought the phone to his ear again. “Wooyoung—what’s going on?” he demanded.

“Yeosangie, I know you’d get here before an ambulance does,” Wooyoung said, and the raspiness to his voice seemed to intensify. Something chilling settled in Yeosang’s stomach. “Please, just…”

“Hold on, hold on,” Yeosang said as he went to grab a jacket. He went to the other side of the room to put on shoes. He didn’t know why, but his hand where it held the phone to his ear started to tremble. “Wooyoung—Wooyoung, where are you? Do you know where you are?”

“Yeah, I do...” A sharp intake of breath. “There’s this one place near the dorms, you probably know it…”

With every second that passed as Wooyoung told him the details of where he was, Yeosang’s heartbeat slowly quickened. There was a certain sensation coiling low in his stomach that felt much too cold for his liking, and the frown on his face seemed to be a permanent fixture. He knew very well that there was something wrong about this situation, but he couldn’t for the life of him pinpoint what it was.

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang said. “Is something wrong?”

Who the fuck was he kidding—Wooyoung called an _ambulance_...

“What?” Wooyoung didn’t remotely sound disbelieving, but Yeosang didn’t comment on it yet. “Yeosang, just get here… please…”

“Wooyoung, wait, no—” Something gripped at his heart, and Yeosang blindly realised that it was panic. “Wooyoung—stay on the line with me—what’s going on?”

Yeosang just barely saw San exit the bathroom from the corner of his eye before he left, opening the door and bolting outside into the hallway without bothering to close it. His breath came in short, quick bursts now.

“Wooyoung?” Staticky silence. “Wooyoung?”

“I can’t stay on the line with you, Yeosang…”

His voice was quiet—gentle, even—but there was something strangely solemn about it. Nothing about how he’d said his words seemed to connote good things.

“What? Why?” Yeosang demanded sharply. Random images popped into the forefront of his mind, like he was subconsciously piecing things together without even realising it. “You—oh, my God, please tell me you’ve actually called an ambulance, what the fuck—”

“I have,” came Wooyoung’s voice, and this time it was almost unintelligible with how hoarse his voice sounded. “Just get here, please?”

“Wooyoung—”

The line cut off the exact moment Yeosang got into the elevator. He tried Wooyoung’s number again, but it kept on cutting to voicemail.

Yeosang didn’t bother with his pride and ran to where Wooyoung said he was, unmindful of the other people he’d bumped into in the midst of running. It was dark out now, and the only thing he had to illuminate his way around were the dingy street lamps and lit up windows of the high rise buildings around him.

He could feel his breath speed up and his blood pounding in his ears, and only a singular thought managed to circle around his head.

Was Wooyoung in danger?

Yeosang reached the area where Wooyoung had mentioned he was, panting and damn near dizzy from how fast he’d run. He blinked dancing spots out of his eyes and looked around. He was standing in front of a strip of small shops, the brightest of which was a quaint convenience store.

There was a small number of people roaming around, but none of them were Wooyoung from what Yeosang could see. Somewhere down the road was a construction site with fluorescent tape highlighting a few places other people couldn’t enter.

His feet automatically walked him towards the entrance of the convenience store, somehow convincing himself that Wooyoung would be there of all places. But before he could properly approach the door, his eyes caught an alleyway across the road behind him, lodged between two taller buildings that looked to be apartment complexes. He turned his head and looked into the alleyway from his vantage point, eyes finding nothing but darkness.

A sensation colder than the one he felt back on the phone with Wooyoung settled in him. He shook his head involuntarily before he strode into the store.

It was cramped up, a maximum of two people being able to go through the few aisles that were there. Yeosang searched the whole store before he found himself standing before the cashier. Something in him told him he should ask if he saw Wooyoung, but he knew it would be futile. So many people looked like him; black hair and piercings. A standard dressing style. Nothing all that out of the ordinary.

Where was Wooyoung?

Yeosang stalked out of the store, and he was rid of the momentary warmth he felt in the convenience store. His eyes found the alleyway he’d seen just moments prior, and without thinking, he ran up to the mouth of it.

The first thing that caught his eye was a light bulb at the very top edge of one of the buildings, illuminating just a little bit of the side of the building it was attached to. Then his gaze drifted down, where he saw pitch black. Yeosang took a hesitant step forward, and almost took it back.

What if Wooyoung was here? What if he wasn’t?

He swallowed whatever lump had formed in his throat as a result of his throbbing anxiety and took small steps into the alleyway, the light from the street lamps behind him becoming less and less prominent with each footfall. Yeosang knew very well he was getting himself into a situation he had never been in before, a situation he was immensely unfamiliar with, but the notion that Wooyoung was seemingly in danger seemed to be the only thing prompting him to even breathe.

He had to remind himself that if there was a certain threat here and Wooyoung wasn’t, he could easily run back out. He sucked in a breath through his nostrils as he stood in the middle of the alleyway, his hands slightly shaking by his sides.

Yeosang let out a shuddering breath and opened his mouth to speak. When no sound came out of his throat, he swallowed again. “W-Wooyoung?” he ventured gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “Wooyoung?”

“Yeosang?”

His heart skipped a few beats and he immediately snapped his head to the side where he thought he heard the voice. A few seconds passed of utter silence, and his heartbeat shot up. Yeosang felt the blood pulsing in his ears loudly, the beat a rate that was much too sudden, much too fast.

“Wooyoung? Are you there?”

“Yeosang?”

The voice was louder now, and he was sure it belonged to Wooyoung. Clenching one of his fists, Yeosang took a few more steps forward, his eyes drawn to the end of the alleyway where two dumpsters were.

Where was Wooyoung?

“I’m here…”

Yeosang’s head snapped to his right. Barely there in the darkness, Wooyoung sat with his back against the brick wall, his hand clutching his abdomen.

Wooyoung.

Yeosang didn’t think—just dropped to his knees and crawled up until he was in front of Wooyoung. He moved out of instinct over everything, his hand going to cup Wooyoung’s cheek. Yeosang felt his heart lurch into this throat. “Wooyoung? Wooyoung, are you okay?”

His other hand fumbled for his phone in his pocket, and when he got it out, he pressed the flashlight icon. What the light revealed made his jaw drop.

Wooyoung’s face was bruised in such a way that Yeosang couldn’t tell what part of his face wasn’t purple or covered in cuts. There was a gash on his cheekbone that oozed blood, his eyes were only half open, and when he looked closer, he saw a definite dampness to his skin. Wooyoung clenched his eyes shut when the light shone in his face, but opened it a fraction when he realised who was in front of him.

“You’re here…,” Wooyoung pressed out.

Yeosang’s hand withdrew from his cheek and instead went behind Wooyoung’s head and lifted it off the brick wall. Yeosang brought Wooyoung close to him and gathered him in his arms so that he was cradling his upper body in his lap.

His hands were trembling as they pushed Wooyoung’s hair—damp with sweat or blood, Yeosang had no idea—out of his face. Wooyoung’s eyes were still cracked open just a little, as if he was on the brink of falling unconscious. Yeosang’s hand just barely held onto Wooyoung’s cheek once more with how terribly it was shaking, but he was careful enough not to touch the cut on his cheekbone. “Wooyoung? Wooyoung, what the hell happened? I—”

Wooyoung let out a hiss of pain. Yeosang’s eyes frantically searched the younger’s face before they went down to his abdomen, where Wooyoung was clutching his stomach, his hand coated with blood. The smell of it slammed into Yeosang, and it was all he could do not to grimace.

Tentatively, Yeosang lifted Wooyoung’s wrist to see what he’d been covering up, but only saw the torn fabric of his shirt and blood staining the fabric around the tear. When Yeosang peered over it, he saw a horrifyingly large wound oozing blood.

The words spilled out of his mouth before he knew it was happening. “Wooyoung, did you get fucking _stabbed_?”

The realisation didn’t take long to settle into him—Wooyoung was clearly attacked.

Someone did this to him.

Wooyoung only let out a quivering breath in response, and Yeosang snapped out of it. He moved Wooyoung’s bloody hand out of the way and put pressure on the wound himself, unsure of whether Wooyoung would be able to do it for himself. The blood on his palm was warm, an odd feeling he’d definitely never felt before. But he tried to fight through the unfamiliar sensation—and the god-awful smell—putting more pressure on the wound, despite Wooyoung’s complaints of pain.

“Wooyoung, what happened? Why didn’t you go ask someone for help?” Yeosang demanded, quieter this time, as if scared that they were going to be overheard. He realised belatedly that he had a jacket on, hastily shrugging it off so that he could use it to put pressure on his wound instead of using his head, all the while bombarding Wooyoung with questions. “Wooyoung? Did you seriously call the ambulance? Did you—oh my fucking God… Can you even hear me?”

“Yeosang…,” Wooyoung whispered. Yeosang’s gaze shifted from the area of his injury to his face. It was emotionless as far as the blood and bruising would let him see, but there was a crinkle at the corner of his eyes. “I knew you’d make it here before the ambulance…”

“So you called them? Please say yes, what the fuck Wooyoung—”

Everything was so sudden. Everything was so different. One minute they were happy together, the next one of them was putting pressure on a fucking stab wound.

Yeosang had no idea what to do.

The thought that had continually circled his head just moments ago seemed to be spiralling still, but it had already been answered. _Where was Wooyoung?_ Why, he was right in front of him, seemingly having been beaten the hell up and bleeding out of a stab wound.

Yeosang felt his breathing come at a quicker pace now, and the heartbeat in his ears seemed almost deafening. He turned off his phone’s flashlight and shoved it in his pocket. Gulping down the anxiety crawling into his throat, he used his spare hand to pick up Wooyoung’s hand that he was sure wasn’t bloody—

“Hey hey hey,” Wooyoung hissed, his brows pulled into a frown. Yeosang searched frenziedly around them for what he was referring to, but Wooyoung just looked at the hand Yeosang was holding. “Be careful with that hand—I think he broke it…”

Yeosang’s heart dropped to his stomach as he let go of the hand. “ _He_? Broke it? Who the fuck—”

It was barely there, but still distinct. Yeosang heard the sound of sirens.

Wooyoung lifted a hand, the bloody one, and shakily pressed his palm to Yeosang’s cheek. The smell of blood came in at full force, prompting an odd tingle in his stomach, but Yeosang couldn’t find it in himself to push Wooyoung’s hand away.

Wooyoung let out another shuddering breath as he moved his hand upwards so that his fingers carded through Yeosang’s hair. Yeosang could feel the blood covering Wooyoung’s hand pressing onto his own skin, and had to blink before he snapped out of his reverie.

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang said frantically, looking him in the eye. The taste of fear on his tongue was all too unpleasant, and it was all Yeosang could do not to gag on it. “Wooyoung, who did this to you? Do you know who it was? Wooyoung, talk to me—”

But Wooyoung only shook his head, eyes falling closed. The hand that was in Yeosang’s hair dropped to his side. “Just wait a little longer, Yeosang.”

“ _Wait_? What the—?”

He couldn’t _wait_ ; Wooyoung would die of fucking blood loss or something if the ambulance didn’t get here quick enough—

Yeosang just registered that his hold on the wound loosened, and he quickly pushed more pressure to it, ignoring Wooyoung’s whines of displeasure and the warm blood that managed to dampen his palm through the fabric.

The sirens grew louder within an instant, and suddenly at the mouth of the alley, paramedics were rushing in and it was all too fast for Yeosang to comprehend. He tried to hold onto Wooyoung as they loaded him onto a stretcher, the paramedics yelling commands into the air, to whom Yeosang had no idea. All he could understand was that they were now pushing him into the back of the ambulance as well, and the dark of the alleyway was replaced with the stark white light of the interior of the ambulance.

People started to examine Yeosang before he could even see it happening, but he pointedly shoved them off, gesturing wildly to Wooyoung. “He’s—he’s—”

His voice caught in his throat, and he didn’t continue—just flopped down where a singular seat was provided for him and watched as the paramedics put pressure onto Wooyoung’s wound and occupied themselves with him.

He heard the roaring of the engine and had to hold onto the edge of his seat in an attempt to stop his hands from quivering as he stared at Wooyoung’s still face. One paramedic was treating the small cut on his cheekbone, while a few others were treating the supposed stab wound.

The anxiety he had felt manifested in his leg, where it bounced frantically up and down. His hands still shook horribly and he could smell scents of blood and disinfectants and too many different things at once that he felt dizzy. He dropped his head down, but his eyes remained on the black haired boy in front of him.

“Wooyoung…”

And then there was talking—Yeosang’s ears heard questions that came in rapidfire succession, but he didn’t quite catch any of them. He let them graze past his ears like a light breeze, and just continued to look at Wooyoung.

His Wooyoung.

Yeosang’s hand reached out for him, but then it was pushed away when a paramedic moved between them to tend to Wooyoung, blocking Yeosang’s view of him.

He didn’t know what to do, and Wooyoung was currently being dealt with by the professionals—thoughtlessly, his hands reached for his phone in his pocket.

Only then did Yeosang relearn the fact that his hands were still bloody. He eyed his fingers where they held his phone, but continued what he wanted to do, opening his messages app and sending San and Yunho and the others a string of texts telling them to get to the hospital (what hospital they were currently driving to, Yeosang had no earthly idea) and that Wooyoung had been severely hurt…

He put his phone away, and blindly realised that the blood on his hands had dried up. When, he had no clue.

He heard sounds—quick murmurings that were commands and the clattering of equipment—but everything felt grey. Like Yeosang wasn’t really there.

Like Yeosang wasn’t actually looking at Wooyoung.

Perhaps he was just numb from the shock. Perhaps he was imagining it. Maybe the people in front of him weren’t paramedics, and maybe he wasn’t really in an ambulance. He had half a mind to convince himself that he wasn’t really himself, either, and that the Wooyoung on the stretcher wasn’t really Wooyoung…

It came before he knew it—the paramedics rushing Wooyoung out of the ambulance and into a building, stark white just like everything else. Heart hammering loudly once again (when would it stop?), he followed the people into the building and ran up to them as they put Wooyoung onto another stretcher and pushed him through the hallway.

There were sounds (when would it stop?), so many sounds that Yeosang’s ears seemed to fail to pick it all up. A certain tightness seized hold of his chest, and while he had been panting before, the breath seemed to all but halt at his windpipe and refused to come out (when would it stop?).

They shoved Wooyoung’s stretcher past people lingering everywhere as Yeosang tried to grab a hold of the side of it, risking a single glance at Wooyoung’s face. His eyes were closed.

And then Yeosang was being pushed back. He blinked and caught himself before he tripped on air and just noticed them barging shoving in his stretcher through double doors that closed before Yeosang could even take another breath.

Yeosang’s head tingled and he turned away, looked behind him. He saw a blur of brown and black and then familiar faces that were right there, right there in front of him across the hallway, and yet so far away.

The tightness in his chest sharpened and suddenly he couldn’t see anything clearly anymore—the sharp vision he normally had was replaced with blurs of colours, anything in front of him hardly recognisable except for various hues. His airways narrowed and it felt as though he had been robbed of the ground beneath him and he was left to keep falling and falling and it was too much, too much.


	10. a saucerful of secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps this was his subconscious way of convincing himself that this foreign routine wouldn’t last long, and that they would be back to normal again in no time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning: mentions of homophobia and biphobia
> 
> one more chapter left :D

If Yeosang closed his eyes and imagined hard enough, he could imagine a prairie without Wooyoung.

It was simply the same as it had been before—a mere two months ago—but it seemed absurd even to him to think of such a thing, because at this point Wooyoung was the only thing on his mind. So why would he ever want to get rid of him from it?

The answer was simple. Anytime Yeosang imagined a prairie with Wooyoung, instead of seeing a bright, glowing face under the sun, he saw pallid, bruised skin, and if Yeosang looked downwards, he would see blood staining Wooyoung’s clothes.

Yeosang jerked awake, and this time it wasn’t because of someone snapping fingers in front of his face.

His eyes flew open and frantically searched his surroundings, and when he found no sign of blood, he felt his shoulders relax. His gaze landed on his laptop in front of him, then flitted to San next to him. They made eye contact for a brief moment before Yeosang looked to the front. His professor was busily chattering away about their upcoming exam, and didn’t seem to be even remotely focused on Yeosang, or any other student who’d fallen asleep.

Yeosang thought his eyes might close again, but they didn’t. Instead they settled on the desk in front of him. He felt tired. Perhaps too tired.

San leaned in to Yeosang, then whispered, “We’ll go see Wooyoung right after this, okay?”

Wooyoung.

San seemed to notice Yeosang’s pensive expression, not hesitating to clasp his hand under the table and give it a gentle squeeze. “Hey,” San murmured, “it’s okay. He should be awake by now.”

Right, because he hadn’t been awake the last time any of them had seen him. Because he was being treated for his stab wound and broken hand. Because the doctors wouldn’t let any of them in to see him within visiting hours.

“Hm,” was all Yeosang could reply with. The lack of sleep he’d gotten last night was catching up to him.

San gave his hand one last squeeze, but didn’t let go, a sympathetic look on his face.

♤ ♤ ♤

True to his words, San went with Yeosang to the hospital Wooyoung was admitted to, and since Yunho had also finished his morning class, he decided he would tag along. The train ride was just about the most uncomfortable one Yeosang had ever been on.

When they arrived on the floor they’d put Wooyoung in, Yeosang had to blink the tears out of his eyes. To his happiness, they did not fall, and San and Yunho were thankfully staring ahead.

San was the one to knock on the door and push it open. Yeosang felt like his heart had leapt into his throat when he stepped into the room.

Wooyoung was on the single bed provided for him, changed into a generic hospital gown, slightly propped up on a stack of pillows. He was wearing a cast on his left arm, hanging from a strap around his neck. To the side, Yeosang saw Hongjoong and Seonghwa were talking to him. All of them noticed San and Yeosang enter, and soon enough, all three pairs of eyes were on them.

The only gaze Yeosang returned was Wooyoung’s.

“Hi, San. Hi, Yeosang. Hi, Yunho,” Seonghwa greeted, smiling. Hongjoong gave them all a brief nod, flashing them fleeting smiles. Then Seonghwa looked at Wooyoung. “We’ll be going now, okay? Stay well.”

Wooyoung gave them both a shaky nod. Seonghwa headed for the door while Hongjoong lingered for a moment. Yeosang figured out why when the elder gently patted Wooyoung’s head, eyes softened where they looked at Wooyoung before he followed Seonghwa out of the room.

Not long after the two had left did San storm up to Wooyoung, saying, “Hey, what the fuck?!”

A laugh escaped Wooyoung, and Yeosang couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. Wooyoung said, “I know, right? What the fuck.”

Yeosang stood to the side, silent.

“Did you really get jumped?” San asked, disbelieving. “As far as I’m concerned, you could just be here because you have an early onset of diabetes and you missed an insulin shot.”

Yunho chimed in, “First of all, you can get diabetes at any age, so ‘early onset’ wouldn’t be relevant. Second, you wouldn’t necessarily be in Wooyoung’s position if you were deprived of the insulin you needed. You’d be dead.”

San blinked before he pouted. “You must be fun at parties,” he mumbled, affronted.

Yunho gave him a smile and a roll of the eyes before he moved to the other side of the bed. “All jokes aside, how are you doing, Wooyoung?” Yunho asked softly. “Not all that good, I suppose.”

Wooyoung rubbed at his eyes and sighed. Yeosang watched him do so almost unblinkingly, as if he was in a trance. He saw that Wooyoung’s skin tone wasn’t nearly as pale as it was the last time he saw him, but it wasn’t as though his health had been completely restored yet, either. Wooyoung’s lips were chapped and peeling, and Yeosang wondered briefly how he even managed to open his mouth to speak.

“I’m more in shock than anything,” Wooyoung said. “It came out of nowhere. I just… yeah.”

Yunho’s eyes looked sad. San’s back was to Yeosang, so he had no way of knowing what he felt unless he moved closer to Wooyoung. Yeosang didn’t want to move.

The hospital room fell silent for a moment before Yeosang spoke up.

“What happened, Wooyoung?” he asked.

Wooyoung seemed to be still in shock for just a split second, before he sighed once again and flopped down so he sank into the pillows behind him. “I…”

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to,” San cut in.

“No, I should tell you. It’d be kinda weird not telling my friends why I got _jumped_.” Wooyoung pressed out a smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair before continuing. “Well, I just went to the convenience store to pick up a few things, and then I got called into some alleyway by a guy. He called me a few choice words, I got brave and called him a few choice words back, and yeah. The guy stabbed me. And stepped on my hand.” He motioned to his cast-covered arm, nodding his chin towards it.

“The _fuck_?” San looked positively stunned, mouth falling open into an ‘o’. “You—what did you say to the guy to get you _stabbed_?”

“He was gonna attack me anyway. I guess me talking back just prompted him a little more,” Wooyoung said, perhaps a little too dismissively for Yeosang’s liking. He didn’t like the way Wooyoung seemed so indifferent to the situation, like Wooyoung was used to such treatment.

Yeosang could’ve gagged right then and there.

“Wow,” Yunho said pensively, frowning. “Is that your entire diagnosis? Or is there more?”

Wooyoung shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t strapped. “Just my arm and the stab wound. It’s shallow, so it’s not all that concerning, according to the doctors. The guy punched me as well, but that’s not really the most important thing here, is it?”

It was a moment before any of them spoke, the one to break the silence being Wooyoung.

“They finally gave me the X-ray scans of my hand,” Wooyoung said, reaching over to the side table and grabbing a large envelope. He struggled to get the photos out with one hand, which was when San stepped in to help him. Yunho moved to the other side of the bed, and Yeosang instinctively shuffled around to stand next to San.

They looked like typical scans of any hand, light grey outlines against a black background. At first Yeosang could see nothing out of the ordinary, until Yunho softly said, “Look at his metacarpals.”

Yeosang didn’t know what metacarpals he was referring to, but when Yunho pointed, he saw the damage. San sucked in a breath through his teeth. Yeosang winced.

“At least the dude got your left hand. God knows what you would’ve done if it was your dominant hand,” San said. Yunho looked over the scans once more before he put them back in the envelope and gave it back to Wooyoung.

It was a weak attempt at humour, but it made Wooyoung smile nevertheless.

“Actually,” Wooyoung said, putting the envelope to the side, “can I talk to Yeosang for a moment?”

It caught Yeosang completely off guard, and it had to take Yunho’s laugh to bring him out of his shock.

“Of course,” Yunho said, already looping an arm around San’s. “We’ll let those lovebirds talk. Come on, San-ah.”

San gave one last cursory glance towards Yeosang. “Yeosangie, I think we’ll go after you guys are done talking, okay?”

Yeosang managed a nod.

They left without saying anything further, and the room plunged into silence.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Wooyoung said, smirking. Yeosang blinked. “C’mere. Gimme a hug, Yeosangie.”

Yeosang couldn’t help the smile that slinked onto his lips. He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Wooyoung’s neck gently, the younger’s head pressing onto his chest. Wooyoung hugged him back with his good arm, tightly wrapped around Yeosang’s waist.

“You have no idea how glad I am that you’re okay,” Yeosang said, using a hand to cradle Wooyoung’s neck. He pressed a thumb to the curve of Wooyoung’s jaw, prompting him to look up at him. “You… you…”

“A bit wrong in the head, I know,” Wooyoung laughed, letting go of Yeosang. He gestured to the chair next to the bed. “Sit.”

Yeosang did, and when Wooyoung told him to bring the chair closer to the bed, he did that, too.

“Sorry, by the way,” Wooyoung said.

Yeosang took Wooyoung’s hand instinctively into both of his, rubbing circles onto his knuckles. “What for?”

“How I called you before the ambulance got there.”

Yeosang frowned. “I don’t think you should be sorry for anything in this situation. I mean, you got stabbed. And the guy broke your arm.”

Wooyoung laughed again, but it didn’t do much to convince Yeosang there was anything amusing in the whole ordeal.

Yeosang’s hand went up to Wooyoung’s cheek then, and he was careful not to touch the small bandage where he’d gotten cut. Wooyoung blinked owlishly at him, the smile having been replaced with a rather pensive expression.

“You wouldn’t believe who the person was,” Wooyoung said.

Yeosang stayed quiet, a silent prompt for him to go on.

“Minhee’s brother.”

His words surprised him, but nothing that rendered him completely shocked. He frowned deeply, brushing his thumb over the swell of Wooyoung’s cheek.

A strange half-smile appeared on Wooyoung’s face then—almost bittersweet, kind of pained. “Really, I was just going to the convenience store to get you a Valentine’s Day card,” Wooyoung continued, his gaze settling on their joined hands, “and then I was planning on going somewhere else, but you saw the closed road. Then I had to make a detour and he saw me. I had a feeling he’d be in that alleyway, because that’s the area where Minhee also lives. Well, yeah, he called me more of his unimaginative slurs and I got pressed and said some shit back to him. He got mad, punched me, stabbed me, and stepped on my hand for good measure.”

Rather grimly, Wooyoung held up his cast.

Yeosang’s frown deepened, and there was a sharp sting in his chest when he saw the onset of tears at Wooyoung’s waterline.

“What’s so fucking stupid,” Wooyoung said, his voice cracking, “is that I knew he’d do something like that. I knew he was dangerous. I knew he’d pull a stunt like that, ever since I told Minhee about my sexuality. I knew, and yet I provoked him anyway. _Fuck_ , he fought me saying that he could probably beat the ‘gay’ out of me, saying I wasn’t really bisexual and all that shit.” Wooyoung blinked rapidly, and Yeosang figured he was trying to get the tears out of his eyes. The other boy looked back at Yeosang. “I don’t know how to explain it; I thought he’d moved on, I thought he wouldn’t cross the line he did, but clearly not. But—shit—Yeosang, I’m so sorry for dragging you into this. I wish I didn’t have to put you through that—”

Yeosang gathered him into his arms before he could say anything else, tucking Wooyoung’s head under his chin as he let him cry.

“I’m so sorry, Wooyoung,” Yeosang murmured into his hair. “You of all people didn’t deserve this…”

Something visceral, something painful tugged at his heart, and Yeosang had to fight back tears of his own when images of the night before resurfaced to the forefront of his mind. He clenched his jaw, hard, and pressed a kiss to Wooyoung’s head, despite knowing it would likely do nothing to stop the pain.

“I wish I didn’t always have this subliminal fear of him. I just wanna live. I just wish he didn’t exist,” Wooyoung sobbed, his hand clinging tightly to the fabric of Yeosang’s shirt. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this dumpster-fire of a situation, Yeosangie…”

Yeosang only shushed him, planting another chaste kiss to his head as he rocked them back and forth slowly, whispering quiet nothings into his hair as he tried his best to comfort Wooyoung. It was hard to do so with Wooyoung’s injuries, but he managed.

“Shh, you’re okay now, Wooyoung. We’re safe now. We’re okay,” Yeosang said. Wooyoung seemed to sob harder for a second.

He pulled back so he could see Wooyoung’s face. His eyes were bloodshot with the tears they had spilled, nose red and runny. Wooyoung snivelled before he let out a breathy laugh and brushed the knuckles of his free hand along Yeosang’s cheekbone. Yeosang only looked at him.

“Oh, Yeosang,” Wooyoung muttered. “The things you wouldn’t have to deal with if you weren’t with me…”

Yeosang frowned before he took Wooyoung’s hand into his own once again, linking their fingers together. Those words were very much unlike Wooyoung, but it was nothing he’d never said before, either. Yeosang guessed it was perhaps the result of his injuries making him speak this way. Maybe the subsequent fatigue.

“Don’t say things like that, Wooyoung. Please.” Out of instinct, he leaned in and planted a kiss to Wooyoung’s forehead. “I love you no matter what. You know that, right?”

Again, another pained smile. Wooyoung pressed their foreheads together. “I know. I love you, too.”

His gaze got a bit overwhelming after a moment, which was when Yeosang looked down. He didn’t bother to pull away from Wooyoung.

“Will you visit me after today, Yeosangie?” Wooyoung asked, his voice coming out in the form of a mumble.

“Yeah,” Yeosang replied without thinking twice. “I’ll visit every day you’re here. Speaking of which—when are you being discharged?”

“After a few days. On Monday I’ll probably leave.”

Monday. Yeosang blinked, having remembered what he’d needed to. “Monday? That’s when my exam is.”

“Ah, that sucks.” Wooyoung pushed his lip out in a pout. “That means you gotta study hard, Yeosangie. But you’ll still visit me, right?”

“Everyday. Definitely.”

Yeosang thought about it—how his head had made him picture Wooyoung in his injured state rather than his normal self. He saw Wooyoung’s pale skin now, his red eyes and crying face, and figured this was the closest he would get to his previous self before his recovery finished. At least looking at him like this was substantially less overwhelming than thinking of him all bruised up and bloody. Yeosang brushed one of Wooyoung’s tears away with his thumb.

The door creaked open. San’s head peeked through. “Yeosangie… are you done?”

Yeosang looked towards San, and his voice caught in his throat before he hesitantly nodded. He glanced back at Wooyoung. His eyes were still glossy with tears.

“I’ll come back, Wooyoung,” he mumbled, low so that San couldn’t hear him. He wrapped his arms around Wooyoung in one last shaky embrace. “I’ll be back tomorrow, okay? Get well soon. I love you.”

Yeosang just vaguely noticed that San had closed the door, obviously giving Wooyoung and him just another moment. He stood up and positioned the chair back to its original place before he started for the door.

“Hey,” Wooyoung called before Yeosang could walk out. Yeosang glimpsed behind him. Wooyoung was smiling at him.

Yeosang asked, “What is it, Wooyoung?”

“I don’t even get a kiss?” Wooyoung said, almost sullenly.

Yeosang sighed before he walked back to the side of Wooyoung’s bed. He leaned in and pressed their lips together briefly, tasting tears, before he smiled at him. “You good now?”

Wooyoung’s face fell in mock-disappointment before he grabbed Yeosang by the collar of his shirt, dragging him down and kissing him once more. This one was longer, a bit more intimate. It was Wooyoung who pulled away first, breathless.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung said in a whisper. He went in for another kiss, this time on Yeosang’s cheek, grinning. “Stay safe, Yeosangie.”

Yeosang looked at his face again and wondered how Wooyoung could smile in such a situation. He wondered how he seemed so indifferent, like he didn’t care for the fact that he was attacked. Almost as if he believed that he would be saved, and that he would be able to be happy the next day.

A shaky nod was all Yeosang could manage in response before he left the room. He paused by the door before he left, though, unable to stop himself from giving Wooyoung one last glance.

San and Yunho were quietly waiting outside the room, on their phones. When they noticed Yeosang had exited the room, they all made for the elevator. San and Yunho talked about the situation while Yeosang kept quiet.

Yeosang didn’t know how to act. He felt too much like how he’d been in the ambulance with Wooyoung; inexplicably numb, and for a reason he couldn’t name.

♤ ♤ ♤

When Yeosang did visit Wooyoung the next day, he tried to push in some time to focus on studying for his exams. He brought in his laptop and respective notebooks and did as much revision as he could, while accompanying Wooyoung.

“Where’s San?” asked Wooyoung, as Yeosang was busily typing away at his keyboard. “He does the same major as you, doesn’t he?”

Yeosang briefly glanced up at Wooyoung from behind his laptop screen. “Yeah, but he’s working on our drone thing for a bit today. Says he’ll do some of that today and let me do some of it tomorrow. You know, so the work evens out.”

Wooyoung nodded in understanding. Then he leaned over a little so that he could peek at the screen, and Yeosang was reminded of a memory where Wooyoung did the same thing. “What are you doing?” Wooyoung questioned.

“Just going over notes. Adding things in as well,” Yeosang answered simply. “Doesn’t it hurt when you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Lean over.”

“Not really.” Wooyoung shrugged. “I’m doped up on painkillers, so it hurts less.”

“Hm.”

Wooyoung leaned back. “I think you should probably not study when you’re with me,” he said.

Yeosang raised an eyebrow. “What, you think you distract me?”

“More or less.” Wooyoung smiled. “But no. When I told you to visit me everyday, you knew I was, like, joking, right? I think you should actually devote time into your studies. And you don’t have to visit me, I can deal with just the doctors and nurses’ company. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yeosang thought about it, and decided he’d reserve at least thirty minutes for Wooyoung for the next couple of days that he’d be here. “Doesn’t matter, I’ll still come over. The only day I can’t, though, is Monday. Like I told you, I have my exam.”

“Ah.” Wooyoung leaned back. “On Monday I think my parents will visit me. But that’s okay—you can meet them… another time.”

Yeosang had only visited the hospital Wooyoung was admitted to three times—today, yesterday, and when he’d been brought in—but found that it was rather easy adapting to the lifestyle here. He guessed maybe it was Wooyoung that made it easy, but also the fact that his friends had accompanied him. He knew that this routine wouldn’t last very long, but he’d somehow become easily accustomed to it quicker than he thought he would.

The whole situation was a rather numb, but at the same time, an odd, out-of-body experience. Yeosang felt as though half his mind was telling him this was some horrible dream, that Wooyoung didn’t really get stabbed and that he wasn’t actually going to visit him in hospital, that he would wake up in the morning with an unharmed, untouched Wooyoung in his arms, but the other half seemed to know this was reality. More often than not, he chose to ignore those inner thoughts, trying to focus on what was going around him. It worked, somewhat.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought that maybe this was his coping mechanism. Maybe he might not have realised it fully, but perhaps this was his subconscious way of trying to get through this sort of situation without completely breaking down, or being overwhelmed. Perhaps this was his subconscious way of convincing himself that this foreign routine wouldn’t last long, and that they would be back to normal again in no time.

His mind and body weren’t used to this sort of thing—after all, he’d done a very good job of telling himself that being in circumstances like this and being admitted to hospital and whatnot were all part of creative universes. That this sort of thing didn’t happen in real life, but—looking at Wooyoung now, in his hospital gown, in a state that showed that his health had seen better days—clearly not.

Yeosang convinced himself that this was just his way of wanting even the smallest shred of normalcy again. With Wooyoung, with his friends. Without any threats.

He looked back down at his laptop, but his mind was elsewhere. While his eyes were on his neatly organised notes, he was looking at Wooyoung sitting down with his back against the wall of the small hut in the prairie, a sunflower in his hands. He was picking out the seeds from the pistil and throwing them at Yeosang, who sat directly opposite him, trying to dodge the small projectiles.

When Yeosang glanced back up, Wooyoung’s skin was still pale, and he was smiling at him. Instead of a sunflower, in his hands was a glass of water.

“What?” Yeosang asked.

“Nothing,” Wooyoung said simply, “I just think you’re pretty.”

Yeosang’s mouth pulled upwards in a smile. He leaned in at the same time Wooyoung did, then pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead, muttering under his breath about how he thought Wooyoung was pretty, too.

There was silence for a brief moment before three tentative knocks sounded through the room. Wooyoung chuckled quietly. “Who even knocks, honestly?” he murmured. “Come in!” he called.

The door swayed open slowly, and at the threshold stood a young woman, who Yeosang suspected was their age, give or take. She had dyed brown hair and big, downturned eyes.

And then Wooyoung spoke. “ _You_?”

His curt, standoffish tone caught Yeosang by surprise. Yeosang hazarded a glance at Wooyoung, noticing how his brows slightly drew together and his shoulders squared in a rather guarded way.

The woman bit her lip, then haltingly stepped in. “Hi, Wooyoung,” she said. Her voice was quiet, and if it weren’t for the tense silence in the room, Yeosang might have missed what she said next. “I heard about what happened.”

“Of course you would have, Minhee,” Wooyoung replied. There was still that cold, hard edge to his voice. “You’re Sanghee’s fucking sister.”

Yeosang looked back at the woman. Minhee, who seemed to become more and more timid with each second Wooyoung glared at her, stood her ground. “I’m so sorry for what he did,” she said, her voice a pitch higher. “Genuinely, truly, I am. I didn’t think he would go that far.”

Minhee’s words sounded like noise to Yeosang; he could only imagine how Wooyoung felt.

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, yeah. You’re here to apologise to me on behalf of your brother because he’s too much of an incompetent coward to do it himself. I see.”

Minhee’s eyes momentarily flitted to the ground beneath them before she looked back at Wooyoung. If the anxious look on her face was any indication, this situation wasn’t quite favourable to her, either. “A-Are you going to press charges?” she asked.

Yeosang felt his eyes widen, and he snapped his head towards Wooyoung. The thought of pressing charges completely went over his head, and he didn’t know why it had to take someone else asking for him to realise that this was another whole aspect of the situation they would have to tackle.

A muscle jumped in Wooyoung’s jaw, and he stared at Minhee, unsmiling. Yeosang was tempted to reach over and take his hand in whatever comforting fashion he could produce, but rejected the thought. Despite his exterior, he knew Wooyoung was vulnerable now, and likely volatile.

It was a long, terse moment before Wooyoung responded. Yeosang saw that he was clenching his fist under the blanket. “I don’t know,” he answered in a barely audible mumble.

Minhee blinked, and the whole room plunged into another uneventful, strained silence. Yeosang felt the urge to reach over and comfort Wooyoung now more than ever, but he simply sat in his chair, and hoped Wooyoung would be okay without the comfort that his touches may have brought.

“I…” Minhee paused. “I’m so sorry, Wooyoung. Seriously. Sanghee crossed a line, and I don’t think he should get away with what he did.” She let out a shuddering sigh. “Once again, I’m sorry. Take care, stay healthy. I wish you well.”

Without another word, she left the room, not bothering to spare Wooyoung a second glance.

Wooyoung heaved out a sigh, running his hands over his face. Yeosang took that as his opportunity to gently pull one of Wooyoung’s wrists away from his face so that he could hold his hand.

“Are you okay?” Yeosang asked softly.

Wooyoung sighed again. “I’m fine. I just… I didn’t expect to see _her_.”

Yeosang closed his laptop and set it to the side so that he could move closer to Wooyoung. “Are you planning on pressing charges, Wooyoung?” he asked. “Honestly.”

Their conjoined hands seemed to be the most fascinating thing to Wooyoung at the moment, because he didn’t meet Yeosang’s eyes like he’d expected him to. “I don’t think I will,” he answered. “It just brings in too many complications. I don’t think Sanghee should get away with what he did, and of course he can just as easily do to other people what he did to me… but I don’t think I want to do it… at least not now. It’s just—it’ll be too much on my plate, I think.”

Yeosang used a hand to hold the side of Wooyoung’s head. Wooyoung accepted the gesture, slightly leaning into his hand. “Whatever floats your boat,” he said to him.

Wooyoung forced out a smile. The brightness that was there in his eyes before was no longer present.

♤ ♤ ♤

It was just them lying down in the prairie now, the only thing hiding them from the rest of the world being a thick wall of sunflowers. Yeosang pictured them both to be lying down on their sides, facing each other, faces separated by only an inch’s worth of distance. The sun gave Wooyoung’s skin a heavenly glow. Yeosang’s mind did well in convincing him that Wooyoung was some ethereal being.

Yeosang ran his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair gently, perhaps a little too invested in how pretty he thought Wooyoung looked. Wooyoung blinked back at him owlishly, before his lips turned upwards in a small smile.

And then in an instant, Wooyoung was replaced with San, but he wasn’t close to him like how Yeosang imagined Wooyoung to be. Instead, San was opposite him on the other side of the desk, and surrounding him were other desks with other assiduously working students. He was looking at Yeosang, and his hand was outstretched, like he had been using it to wake Yeosang up.

“Are you tired?” San asked in a whisper, cocking his head to the side slightly. “We can go home if you like.”

Yeosang only shook his head no. “Let’s continue working,” he whispered, looking back at his notes.

♤ ♤ ♤

As soon as his exam had finished on that Monday morning, Yeosang found himself rushing out of the hall first out of all the students, clutching his bag as he ran like his life depended on it.

He’d told Wooyoung that he wouldn’t be able to make it today to the hospital, but he hoped that once his exam finished he’d be able to catch him before he was properly discharged. Yeosang couldn’t pinpoint what it was that was prompting him to catch the earliest bus he could to the hospital, but he knew at the very least that he wanted to see Wooyoung. Maybe even surprise him.

After what felt like hours compressed into mere minutes, Yeosang did end up catching the earliest bus to the hospital. He was thankful that the bus was nearly empty—he figured after such a gruelling exam, he would need the quietness that came with unoccupied public transport.

He made his way around the wing of the hospital that he knew Wooyoung was located in. It was more muscle memory than anything; the way his mind subconsciously memorised the rights and lefts it would take to get up to his room. He felt breathless in almost a new way, and he knew it wasn’t only because of the mini marathon he had rushing through the pristine hallways of the hospital.

When he got to Wooyoung’s dorm, he stood just outside of it for a moment, already about to knock, when he spotted a familiar nurse from the corner of his eye. He turned, then, to be sure, asked, “Um, is Wooyoung still in here?”

The nurse shook her head. “He left this morning,” she answered.

Yeosang felt his chest deflate, but it wasn’t as though he didn’t expect this. Wooyoung was pretty clear about him leaving today, anyway. He gave the nurse a smile before he departed, despite the small part of his brain that somewhat regretted having wasted the best of thirty minutes just trying to find Wooyoung at the hospital.

He was lucky enough to catch the earliest bus from the hospital to one of the major train stations, where he then caught another bus back to the dorms. He shot Wooyoung a quick text.

> **yeosang, 12:20 PM**  
>  are you at the dorms ?

He shut his phone off immediately afterwards and habitually expected a momentary vibration that would indicate Wooyoung’s text back (since he normally responded within the minute), but when no such response came, Yeosang merely looked at the unread message. He brushed it off quick enough, telling himself that Wooyoung was most likely just unavailable.

Yeosang reached the dorms and the first thing he did was go to his own. He found San there, lying down on his bed, his phone in his hand where he gazed at the screen.

He looked up when he saw Yeosang enter. “Did you find him?” San asked.

Yeosang shook his head. “Apparently he left this morning,” he answered. “I would go up to his dorm and check up on him, but I’m kinda tired.”

San pointed to Yeosang’s bed. “Take a nap, just rest for a while. That exam was just about the worst thing I had to experience, like, ever. Likely that it was for you, too.”

Yeosang nodded, then flopped down onto the bed. “We still have to finish that drone, though.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” San put his phone on the bedside table and buried his face in his pillow. “I just want one day when I don’t have to think about engineering. One, singular day.”

Yeosang laughed before he turned on his phone. He checked the text he sent Wooyoung, then frowned when he saw that he still hadn’t even opened the message.

“I’m gonna commit,” San said, his voice partially muffled from his pillow. “If exams were a person, I would’ve killed it long ago.”

Yeosang pushed himself off the bed and stood up. He stalked over to San and adjusted his head so that he wasn’t being completely suffocated. “You should rest, I think you of all people need it,” Yeosang told him. “I’m gonna go and check something, then I’ll be right back, all right?”

San emitted a grunt of affirmation and pulled the covers up so that only his lower body was covered. He turned so that his back was to Yeosang, and, seeing no other chance to continue the conversation, Yeosang walked out of the room. He took the elevator and stopped at Wooyoung’s floor, then proceeded to make his way to his dorm room.

The door to his room was half open. Before he could comprehend it, Yeosang walked in, fingers pushing the door wider.

Yeonjun was the only one there, in the process of shrugging his coat on. He wasn’t surprised by Yeosang’s sudden presence, merely staring back at him when their gazes met.

Wooyoung’s bed wasn’t made, but there was also something vastly different about the room. Yeonjun and Wooyoung’s shared charging port had only one phone charger plugged in.

Yeosang felt mildly unsettled. He skipped all the preamble. “Where’s Wooyoung?”

Yeonjun was silent for a moment, something secretive in his gaze as he simply studied Yeosang. There was a heavy feeling in Yeosang’s stomach. “He left for Ilsan this morning,” he replied easily.

Yeosang couldn’t help the way his brows furrowed in response. “What?”

“He left for Ilsan this morning after being discharged,” Yeonjun repeated, his tone patient.

Yeosang could only stare, a weighty sensation settling in his chest. What the hell was he talking about?

He looked around the room, almost as if searching for Wooyoung would magically summon him. As if he looked hard enough, he’d come to know that this was a prank. A hoax. “You’re not serious… are you?” Yeosang prompted.

Yeonjun plainly nodded, lips flattening as he gauged Yeosang’s reaction. “Oh, he left this for you,” Yeonjun said then, turning his back to Yeosang as he strode across the room and grabbed a rather large cardboard box. From what Yeosang could see from a distance, there was a sticky note on the top of the box. His heart was hammering hard against his rib cage now. It was almost hard to breathe. Yeonjun motioned to the sticky note as he plopped the box onto Wooyoung’s bed. “You might wanna read that.”

Yeosang eyed the yellow piece of paper with something close to disdain. A variety of thoughts circled around his head. Was it a return address? A signature? But then, knowing Wooyoung, could it have been a severely pathetic attempt at rewriting a receipt, perhaps?

Yeosang felt his stomach churn uncomfortably. Could it possibly be those corny goodbye letters that he had only seen in movies? Because there was no Yeonjun was being serious. Surely he had to be at least joking.

But then Yeosang was directly in front of the box, and Yeonjun was telling him that he would be going out soon and that it was okay and that Yeosang could take his time to process it all, then finished off by requesting that he would have to get out before Yeonjun had to lock up. Yeosang could only nod absently. He was only focused on the box.

Yeonjun left the room and stood outside the door, slotting his bluetooth headphones in as he went through his phone. Yeosang had his back turned towards the door, lest Yeonjun happened to see his reaction.

Yeosang wanted to assume that Yeonjun was pulling some twisted-as-fuck prank on him, but Yeosang knew Wooyoung’s handwriting, even if he hadn’t seen it too often. The neat lineup of characters next to characters and the straight lines for sentences practically screamed Wooyoung.

It took Yeosang a momentary pause before his hand reached out to pull the sticky note off the top of the box. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but his hand was slightly trembling.

_Yeosang,_

_I was supposed to tell you ages ago, but for some reason I couldn’t. I’d been planning to leave for Ilsan for a while._

_I decided that once I went back to Ilsan, I wouldn’t come back._

Yeosang had to look up immediately after reading the words, eyes finding everything around him but the sticky note. His breathing came at a faster pace now, and he didn’t know why. He didn’t know why it was suddenly as though the walls were closing in on him. He didn’t know a shit ton of things, apparently.

There was a heavy frown on his face, one he couldn’t give enough of a shit about to get rid of. He had to force himself to read on.

_We weren’t supposed to happen._

Yeosang slammed the hand holding the sticky note down on the top of the box, letting out a long breath.

If his stomach had only churned before, then it somehow hurt now. He reread the sentence, and it felt like someone had delivered a direct punch to his abdomen.

_We weren’t supposed to happen. But we did, and I can never thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me. I hope this (open box!) was what you wanted when you made that deal with me, on that one fateful day._

_I love you. I’m sorry._

_-Wooyoung_

Yeosang’s hand dropped so that it lay down atop the box. There was a sardonic laugh on the tip of his tongue, threatening to bubble out of his throat, but he held it in. He was struck with the urge to rip what little paper was in his hand, but Yeonjun didn’t need to be in the vicinity if that happened.

He pressed the sticky note back on the surface of the box, then slid two hands under the box to pick it up. It wasn’t too heavy, and when he lightly shook it, he wanted to scream.

He knew what it was.

Yeosang traipsed out of the dorm room, making his way towards his own with the box in hand, not even bothering to pay any ounce of attention to Yeonjun. But it wasn’t as though it mattered. Yeosang knew deep down that neither of them probably cared about such pleasantries.

San was napping when Yeosang walked into their dorm room. He was still half-covered by the blanket, his leg dangling idly off the edge of the bed as he lightly snored. Yeosang laid the box down onto his own bed before walking over to San.

San really was most likely tired from revising for the exam and working on their shared engineering assignment. When Yeosang had fallen asleep last night—around 2AM—San was still diligently screwing things into their drone and attaching nuts where they needed to be, while simultaneously going over notes. Yeosang raked a hand through San’s hair, making sure his bangs stayed out of his eyes. He pressed his palm to his cheek. San’s skin was cold.

Yeosang adjusted the blanket so that it was covering every part of San’s body, save for his head, and turned on the small, portable heater they owned, turning it around so that the heat was directed mostly towards his sleeping roommate.

Yeosang went to the one set of drawers where he and San stored miscellaneous things, then pulled out a pair of scissors. He walked over to the box again.

He stared at it. Studied it. He knew what it was going to be. Could almost feel it in his bones.

When he opened the box, he wasn’t surprised when he saw the familiar packaging of the drone that Wooyoung had broken.

Yeosang didn’t know how to feel. The closest thing that could describe his current state of being was… hollow.

He sat down on his bed crossed-legged, then reached out an arm and picked up the sticky note from where it had fallen when he opened the box. He reread the whole thing. He reread the parts that hurt more.

_We weren’t supposed to happen._

_I love you. I’m sorry._

_I decided that once I went back to Ilsan, I wouldn’t come back._

_I’m sorry._

Yeosang buried his face in his hands, elbows propped up on his thighs.

Wooyoung had just left. Without telling him. Wooyoung had just gone and left Yeosang to figure everything out by himself.

Wooyoung wouldn’t be coming back for him. Wooyoung wouldn’t be coming back for anyone or anything at all.

Yeosang wouldn’t be able to hug Wooyoung freely again. He wouldn’t be able to kiss the life out of him and pull him close. He wouldn’t be able to watch the way he laughed and tell him how gorgeous he looked. He wouldn’t see Wooyoung again. Because he had just. Gone.

The tears behind his eyes were there, and if Yeosang opened his eyes, he was sure they would result in him at least tearing up a shit ton, assuming he wouldn’t immediately bawl. Yeosang sucked in a breath through what little space he had between his hands on his face and pulled out his phone from his pocket.

> **yeosang, 1:08 PM**  
>  is this a joke???
> 
> **yeosang, 1:08 PM**  
>  this is a joke right
> 
> **yeosang, 1:08 PM**  
>  wooyoung what the fuck????

He pressed the call button, but wasn’t surprised when it rang out. He tried again, to no avail.

> **yeosang, 1:10 PM**  
>  answer my calls what the fuck
> 
> **yeosang, 1:10PM**  
>  wooyoung
> 
> **yeosang, 1:12 PM**  
>  did you really leave?

“Yeosangie,” San called.

Yeosang abruptly snapped his head up, looking at San’s back. San wasn’t facing him, but he knew he was awake.

“Are you okay?” San asked. There was no concerned lilt to his voice, no inflections of any sort. Yeosang suspected that he was just asking for the hell of it.

But Yeosang didn’t answer the same way, looking to his phone, then the box, back to his phone before his gaze shifted back to San’s resting form.

“I—yeah…”

He wasn’t, but he hoped that San wouldn’t notice. He hoped this wasn’t really happening.

Yeosang blew up Wooyoung’s phone with a dozen more text messages and calls. Wooyoung never answered.

Without thinking, Yeosang stormed out of the room once more. He bounded down the hallway and into the elevator and soon enough, he was outside the dormitory building, and Yeonjun was standing at the curb.

Yeosang was out of breath by the time he ran up to Yeonjun once again, but it did nothing to lessen the determination that seemed to all but control him at this point. When Yeonjun sensed his presence, he turned, a surprised look on his face.

“Tell me it’s not real,” Yeosang demanded breathlessly. “You’re lying. Wooyoung didn’t really leave, did he?”

Yeonjun blinked at him slowly. “I’m…”

“Yeonjun, tell me right now. The fuck happened?”

Yeonjun took out one of his headphones. He said, “I don’t know what else to tell you, Yeosang-ah. He didn’t tell me anything else either. I’m just as surprised as you are.”

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not.”

Any semblance of hope Yeosang had formed in his head during the moments he’d had to run vanished into thin air.

Wooyoung truly had left.

A car pulled up to the curb, and then Yeonjun was speaking, but not to Yeosang. Yeosang looked at the ground. For a very, very brief moment, he hoped it would open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole and that he would somehow wake up and this was all just some freakishly realistic nightmare.

“Really, I don’t know much else, Yeosang,” Yeonjun said. Yeosang glanced up. “He’s not answering my calls or texts, either.”

Yeonjun entered the car, and it sped away. Yeosang stared up at the road, gazing at the many cars that zoomed past before he brought himself back to reality, walking back up to his dorm room. Whatever unnamed thing he was feeling at the moment only seemed to intensify when he opened the door and saw San hovering around the microwave.

He noticed Yeosang enter the room, then turned to face him. San said, “I couldn’t sleep, so I’m making ramen.” He took out a cup of instant noodles from inside the microwave. “Where’d you go?”

Yeosang wanted to stay silent, and he did for a moment, before the words all but tumbled out of his mouth. “Did you know Wooyoung left for Ilsan this morning?”

The question took San by surprise, making him look up at Yeosang from his noodles, his brows drawn in disbelief. “What’d you say?” he asked.

“Did you know Wooyoung left for Ilsan?”

“He _what_?”

“No, did you _know_ he would leave?”

“I—no—?”

“Wooyoung left for Ilsan this morning,” Yeosang repeated, the hollow feeling he’d felt in his chest minutes ago having returned. He still felt like none of this was real. “The guy left for _Ilsan_ , and he didn’t think to even tell me. And you know what else? He’s not—he’s not coming back. Can you fucking believe that? I sent him a gazillion text messages and calls, but he just wouldn’t reply.”

“You’re joking, right?” San said. He, too, seemed much too surprised to react.

“My thoughts exactly,” Yeosang replied. He strode over and sat on the edge of his bed. “I think this is a gimmick. I don’t think it’s real.”

He was only half-lying. There was a big part of his head that knew what Yeonjun had said had happened was real, but another portion of his mind seemed to all but cling to whatever normalcy it could conjure, which came in the form of doubts and questions. That this wasn’t really happening.

But he’d gone to ask Yeonjun just minutes before and visited his and Wooyoung’s dorm as well, finding only Yeonjun there, and no sign of Wooyoung, or any of his belongings.

Now he had no reason not to believe that this wasn’t really happening, because it sure as hell was.

“You’ve got to be joking,” San said, and this time he truly looked incredulous. “You’re joking, right?”

Yeosang merely shook his head, then propped his elbows on to his thighs and shielded his face with his hands. “He just left, San.”

“…You’re fucking lying.”

“I wish.”

A tense silence hung over the room, and Yeosang felt hollow again. He didn’t want to believe this had happened, but he knew it did. The unopened messages and missed calls were only further cementing the reality of it all.

Wooyoung had left, and without telling Yeosang.

Yeosang looked away. In a matter of seconds, tears sprang to his eyes. He edged backwards and laid back down onto his bed, facing the wall.

He heard a hard object being put on a table, and then San was tugging at his shoulder. When Yeosang didn’t budge, San climbed into the bed with him.

San tugged once more, this time just pinching the fabric of Yeosang’s shirt. Eventually, Yeosang did face his way, albeit hesitantly.

San was looking at him with sympathetic eyes, and Yeosang knew instantly that he was trying to gauge his reaction. Yeosang brought a hand up to wipe away the stray tears that had been brave enough to fall off his waterline.

Yeosang suddenly became hyper-aware of everything around him then, because everything seemed to all crash down on him at once. The warmth that was emanating off of San felt too hot, but the tears felt hotter where they met his skin, and his muscles went taut. He felt his throat constricting and _holy fucking shit_ he couldn’t breathe. He barely suppressed the choked sound that came out of his mouth.

San didn’t hesitate to pull Yeosang closer to him, close enough so that their knees knocked together, close enough that Yeosang could quietly cry into his chest. San didn’t seem to mind either, easily wrapping his arms around Yeosang, rubbing a comforting hand up and down his spine.

The prairie wasn’t empty. Wooyoung was still there, but he wasn’t as close to Yeosang as he had been last time. No, he was far away this time, far away and way beyond Yeosang’s vicinity, on the other side of the vast expanse of tall plants. Wooyoung wasn’t smiling.

Yeosang held onto San tighter, blinking away memories of carnival kiosks and quiet train rides and sunflowers.


	11. breathe (in the air)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was during those times when Yeosang was left alone with his thoughts that he was all but consumed by them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for staying with me til the last chapter!! i loved writing every chapter of this story and hope you’ve enjoyed it so far as well! i’ve had one of the scenes in here in my drafts for ages but only started getting around to finishing this off recently :p
> 
> another chapter warning: biphobia/homophobia, mentions of domestic abuse/sexual assault 
> 
> enjoy~

Yeosang woke up the next day, eyes fluttering open and finding Yunho standing before him. He felt himself frowning when he saw the cool look on his face.

“Is it true?” Yunho asked. His voice was soft, quiet. “Did he really leave?”

Yeosang barely had time to gather his surroundings, blinking away the bleariness in his eyes. He sat up eventually, but by the time that had happened, Yunho wasn’t in front of him anymore. No, San had pulled him over to tell him something in private, not too far away. Yeosang blinked once again, and realised that Yunho wasn’t their only guest.

Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Jongho were all idling around San and Yeosang’s dorm room, all sharing various looks of mild discomfort. It was Jongho who spoke up first. “Mingi-hyung has class now,” he said.

The words rang in his head briefly before Yeosang nodded in acknowledgment. He stood up and yawned. He noticed San and Yunho looking at him.

Everything felt so weird, so out of place. Yeosang didn’t know what to feel.

“What are you all doing here?” Yeosang asked belatedly.

Seonghwa spoke. “San asked us if we knew as well, and then we came here. I thought you would know what was going on, Yeosang-ah.”

At Seonghwa’s words, all six pairs of eyes landed on Yeosang. His heart leapt into his throat, and for a second he didn’t know how to reply. He cleared his throat before managing a small string of words.

“I’m just as clueless as you are…”

The room plunged into silence then, all of them standing silently where they stood. Yeosang had no idea how long had passed before someone broke the silence.

“He really told none of you?” Hongjoong said.

Yeosang frowned, staring at Hongjoong, who stared right back.

“Hyung, what do you mean?” Jongho asked.

Hongjoong only continued to look Yeosang in the eye. Yeosang somehow instantly had a feeling that Hongjoong knew something that none of them did.

“He didn’t even tell you, Yeosang-ah?” Hongjoong questioned. He cocked his head ever so slightly to the side. “Seriously?”

“I…” Yeosang’s chest tightened. “No.”

Yeosang returned Hongjoong’s gaze, and when it got too overwhelming, Yeosang ducked his head so that he was staring at the ground.

“What?” Seonghwa said. “Hongjoong-ah, did he tell you?”

Hongjoong shifted his gaze to Seonghwa. “Yeah, he did.”

The shift in the room was almost palpable, and it seemed to be the one thing that prompted Yeosang’s skin to crawl. It took a moment for Hongjoong’s words to sink in, and when they did, he felt himself clench his fists.

“He told you, hyung?” Yeosang asked Hongjoong, and immediately hated the way his voice inflected. When Hongjoong turned his head back around and stared at Yeosang with his ever piercing gaze once again, Yeosang managed to stand his ground and not look away. “He really told you?”

Hongjoong didn’t reply. Seonghwa gathered Yunho and Jongho and quietly told them to wait outside with him. They silently complied, and soon enough it was just three of them in the room. San was looking at Yeosang.

“Hyung,” Yeosang said, taking a step backwards. The back of his knees hit the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hongjoong blinked once, rather slowly. “Wooyoung really didn’t tell you?”

“I—no, hyung—”

“Well, what good would that have done?” Hongjoong interrupted. Yeosang closed his mouth, simply observing the elder. There was something unusual about his stance; he seemed to be guarded. “If I told you that Wooyoung was going to leave, would it really have made any impact? Wooyoung would have left either way, and you would’ve still gotten hurt.”

Unlike before when Hongjoong’s confession had taken a few seconds to settle in, his words all but slammed into Yeosang instantly now. Yeosang frowned deeply, and his muscles grew taut, chest seizing in a way he had never felt before. He didn’t know why Hongjoong was being so abrasive with him, but he couldn’t find it in himself to confront him about it. 

Another silence blanketed them, and this one was considerably more tense than the one from before. It was uncomfortably evident; the pressing urge to say something to break the tension, but then there was also the uncertainty of who was to do it.

“Hyung,” said San.

Hongjoong merely squared his shoulders where he stood, marginally straightening. “It’s the truth, Yeosang,” he said. “Whether you want to admit it or not, Wooyoung leaving would have hurt us all. But I don’t think it’s good for us to dwell on it anymore. If Wooyoung wants to explain the whole situation to you, he will. But for now, it’s happened. I’m gonna go tell Seonghwa and the others, now, if you don’t mind.”

Yeosang watched Hongjoong exit the room coolly, noticing how he didn’t bother to send either him or San a second glance.

San walked over and gently pulled him in for an embrace, and Yeosang felt as though he’d been robbed of all the breath in his lungs. Yeosang did not hug him back.

♤ ♤ ♤

Yeosang didn’t meet or talk to anyone other than San for the next couple of days, and when he did, it was always by coincidence. He found it happening one day when he ran into Hongjoong and Seonghwa walking out of the dormitory, while he was walking in.

“Yeosang-ah,” Seonghwa called, spotting him first. He and Hongjoong both walked over to him. Yeosang stood his ground and tried his best not to squirm under the sunlight. “You going back home?”

Yeosang shrugged, kept his eyes on the footpath just next to the couple, unable to make eye contact. “Yeah,” he answered laconically.

Seonghwa nodded. “Hongjoong and I were just visiting Mingi. Said he wanted help with one thing but also missed us or something,” he said nonchalantly. “We were just going to get food. Do you want us to get some for you?”

Yeosang shook his head fast, and perhaps a little frantically. “No, thanks. I was just gonna finish off my assignment with San.”

“Hm.” Seonghwa nodded. Yeosang hazarded a glance at Hongjoong, who had his eyes on him. Yeosang looked away before they could make proper eye contact. “Well, we’ll see you later.”

He waved and began walking down the footpath, but Hongjoong lingered. Yeosang shifted his eyes so that he was staring at him, then said, “I’ll see you later, hyung… stay safe.”

Yeosang was about to continue walking when he heard Hongjoong’s voice, making him stop in his tracks.

“You don’t need to say that to me.”

He glanced back. “What?”

“You don’t need to tell me to stay safe,” Hongjoong clarified.

Yeosang could only look at him. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he meant, but he didn’t need to mull over it, because Hongjoong went on.

“One day, your faith will be stronger than your fear, Yeosang,” he said simply, before pivoting on his heel and following Seonghwa.

And then it all made sense after a second. The fear, the faith. Hongjoong knew. Hongjoong seemed to know everything before Yeosang could even wrap his head around it, at this point.

San wasn’t in the dorm when Yeosang entered, so he sent Wooyoung another text, tried to call him one more time. He got the same answer as last time, which was none. He suspected he would continue to get this same lack of response.

All because Yeosang couldn’t wrap his head around that, either.

♤ ♤ ♤

By the time San returned to the dorm, he found Yeosang sitting on the floor by the foot of his bed, back resting on it with his phone in his hands. He looked up when he saw San enter.

“Hey,” San said, greeting him with a small smile.

“Hi,” Yeosang responded meekly. He put his phone down onto the floor.

San situated himself so that he sat directly next to Yeosang. He watched Yeosang duck his head down quickly, avoiding eye contact. San merely reached a hand up so that he could tuck some of Yeosang’s bangs behind his ear. San could see his birthmark on full display.

“What are you doing?” San asked gently. He made a conscious effort not to accidentally make Yeosang uncomfortable, carefully nudging his shoulder with his own.

“Just clearing out my inbox,” Yeosang replied. He moved his phone so that it lay on the floor in front of him.

“Hm,” San said. He gazed at his phone on the ground, then looked at the side of Yeosang’s face. He was still avoiding his eyes. “Cleaning up, huh? That reminds me, have you bothered to delete Wooyoung’s number yet?”

San noticed the obvious way Yeosang stilled beside him, then frowned.

Before Yeosang could say anything, San hastily added, “I’m sorry, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Yeosang shook his head vigorously then. “No, no,” he assured, quickly stealing a glance at San. “I’m just… I think I should talk about it, shouldn’t I? I’ve been bottling a lot of it up since he left and I know I shouldn’t…”

San took Yeosang’s hand in his own, drawing concentric circles around his knuckles with the pads of his fingers. Yeosang, thankfully, didn’t retract his hand. “You can talk to me about anything, Yeosangie. I’m here for you always,” San murmured. He gave Yeosang’s head a little pat. “Now, tell me everything that’s bothering you. Vent to me. Call Wooyoung every insult in the world in front of me right now, you know I would never tell anyone.”

San could’ve sworn he saw Yeosang’s lips twitch, but he wasn’t about to assume anything.

“He’s just.” Yeosang paused. “I don’t know why I haven’t bothered to delete his number. I have a feeling he changed it—I tried calling him a while ago and it kept on saying this number was unavailable—I don’t know, something like that. But I just, I dunno. I can’t delete his contact. Physically, I mean.”

“That’s okay. I guess it’ll be like that for a while before you actually decide to let go. You can take all the time you want, Yeosangie. No one is waiting for you.”

“I know.” Yeosang snivelled, and San could see the onset of tears on his waterline. For a second, he was already tempted to pull Yeosang in for an embrace, but decided against it. “But I can’t… I can’t—”

A broken sound spilled from his lips, and before either of them knew it, San had gathered Yeosang into his arms. Yeosang tried to push San away just a little, but he ended up crying quietly into his shoulder, eventually.

San used a hand to caress the hairs at Yeosang’s nape fondly. “Shh, oh poor Yeosangie… You know if I could, I would beat Wooyoung up to a pulp, right? Roundhouse kick him and everything. No one should hurt our Yeosangie.”

Yeosang hiccuped, and San heard just the faintest trace of a laugh. “Yeah, San, I know, but—” Yeosang held onto San a little tighter. The latter didn’t hesitate to reciprocate. “I don’t know—why would he leave me without telling me? Was I just not important enough to him? Why would he just—when I—I trusted him so much, I told him all there was to know about me, things I likely haven’t even told my parents, I gave him everything I had to offer, and he just—left—?”

San bit his lip as he patted Yeosang’s head once more, only this time he did it in an attempt to calm Yeosang down. It didn’t seem to be working, but he still tried.

“I don’t understand,” Yeosang went on, his voice saturated by a multitude of tremors. “I don’t—does that mean he never really loved me at all? If he didn’t even bother with a second glance when he decided to leave? If he didn’t even give me a heads-up? Was I really just—was I really just good while I lasted?”

“Oh, my God, _no_ , don’t say that,” San scolded. “I know you loved him, and he loved you. He loved you a lot, Yeosangie, you know that. He likely still does. What’s there not to love about you?” He managed a small smile. “How about this—you take a nap and sleep off all this tiredness and when you wake up, I’ll make you a nice, warm cup of tea, okay? Is that all right with you, Yeosangie?”

San barely noticed it with how hard Yeosang was holding him, but he felt him nod his head.

He helped Yeosang stand up and settle down on the bed. Yeosang held onto San’s hand the whole time, and by this point his crying had subsided, now being reduced to just quiet sniffles. San made sure to pull the covers all the way up to Yeosang’s neck.

San used his free hand to slide his palm gently over Yeosang’s face so that he closed his eyes. Yeosang buried his face under the covers, shielding himself from San seeing him from where he stood.

“Do you feel a bit better now? I’ll be just here—” Yeosang tugged on his hand. “Oh, no? You want me to stay with you?”

Yeosang stayed silent, but San saw a muscle jump in his jaw and, figuring that was the closest thing he would get to a response, took that as a yes. He gently slid under the covers, being sure his hand didn’t detach from Yeosang’s.

“Okay, I’ll cuddle with you,” San agreed, getting comfortable and wrapping his arms around Yeosang’s torso. Yeosang returned the gesture, slotting his head just under San’s head.

San went still, trying to ignore the sensation that took over his chest. He didn’t know what it exactly was, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it. His main focus was Yeosang now, and all he knew was that he had to take care of him right now.

He reared his head back just a little so that he could see Yeosang’s face. His eyes were closed, but there was a slight frown marring his brow. San used a hand to lightly graze his forehead with his fingers, trying to relax him. It worked, but only marginally. Yeosang still looked as though something was on his mind.

“Everything will be all right, Yeosangie,” San reassured quietly. “I’ll cuddle with you for a while and then I’ll make you your tea, okay? I’ll be here as long as you want. You can still keep crying if you want, I don’t mind. Anything that’ll help you go to sleep. We’re going to be okay.”

San tucked Yeosang’s head back under his chin, feeling Yeosang nod a little. San kept stroking Yeosang affectionately, lulling him to sleep while desperately hoping that Yeosang didn’t notice that he was crying, too.

♤ ♤ ♤

A week had gone by. A week since Wooyoung had gone. A week of this same, relatively mundane routine that was the continuation of Yeosang’s life, but without a particular boy.

Another week would go by, Yeosang knew. And then another, and another and then by the time it would have been several weeks since he had left, Yeosang would be used to this.

The memory would no longer be the time before Wooyoung. No, it would be Wooyoung himself.

Yeosang had to blink to bring himself back to the present. The mop of black hair he’d seen just seconds ago in his head was now replaced with an array of assorted kitchen utensils. He’d almost forgotten he was out to buy him and San food.

He straightened and let out all his pent up breath in a sigh, tightening his grip on the packet of food he was holding in his hand before making his way to the front cashier.

Bus and train rides were the same as usual, as well. The same, mildly sadistic regime of sifting through memories, be it through his phone, or his own head.

Yeosang loathed to admit it even to himself, but he only just seemed to realise how much of his mind the boy had occupied before. It was in this moment he also realised that Wooyoung still seemed to take up the same amount of space, even now.

When Yeosang walked into his dorm, San was there, hunched over his phone on the bed.

He put the grocery bag on the floor and walked closer, finding that San was crying.

Upon having seen Yeosang enter, San promptly put his phone to the side and hastily wiped his tears away in an attempt to look at least a little put together. It didn’t go unnoticed by Yeosang, who merely stood near the doorway, feeling his brows draw in concern.

“San?” Yeosang took a step closer. “What’s wrong?”

San sniffled loudly, wiping his nose with his forearm, stuffing his phone into his pocket. He was dressed up as though he was about to go out—hair swooped up, large coat and all—and Yeosang had to wrack his brain a little to remember that he was supposed to go out with Mingi now.

“San-ah,” Yeosang said, a little louder this time. “Are you okay?”

San snivelled again, hardly repressing the sob that wracked his body as he stood up and walked. “Yeosang—oh, God, I’m sorry… I was supposed to leave ten minutes ago—”

Yeosang was in front of San then, gripping his shoulders with his hands to steady the younger boy. Yeosang tried to open his mouth to speak, but San briskly pushed him away, already striding towards the door.

“Yeosang, I’m okay,” San said as his voice got caught in a choked sob, standing in front of the door. Tears were still running down his cheeks, and something visceral twisted in Yeosang’s heart. “I’m okay. Really, it’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Yeosang commented under his breath, unable to filter himself.

Yeosang regretted it as soon as the sentence left his mouth. A mirthless laugh escaped San, and it was all Yeosang could do not to wrap his arms around the younger in whatever protective fashion he could produce. But he knew better, thus abandoning the thought.

“God, Yeosang, I’m sorry,” San said, his voice riddled with tremors. “I wish I didn’t feel the way I feel, but _goddamnit_ , I _do_ , and I’m so sorry.”

Before Yeosang could even think of responding, San had already left the dorm, having said nothing further.

♤ ♤ ♤

When Yeosang took a step forward and stretched his arm out to touch him, Wooyoung ran away.

And then Wooyoung vanished. Yeosang dropped his arm, staring at sunflowers that only looked at the sun.

♤ ♤ ♤

It went on like this for a while. Yeosang’s days were the same, trying his best to ignore that horrible, hollow feeling in his chest he’d feel whenever something prompted him to think about how Wooyoung left.

There was that, and now San’s problem.

San was completely avoiding Yeosang now, because apparently right after he’d walked out the door he’d already gotten to that stage of ignoring him. Any text Yeosang had tried to send San would always be returned with no response at all. His calls would always cut to voicemail. Yeosang had gotten desperate for a moment, going up to Mingi and Yunho and asking them if they knew what was going on with San just moments after he’d left, but their answers were no different from the responses he tried to get out of San.

So for that day, he gave up. Then, on the next day, when the same process repeated itself, Yeosang decided he would give up again. For the moment, San’s problem would be tended to later, when Yeosang figured out what the hell he was actually going to do about it.

Now, all he had left to mull over was Wooyoung. Still, Wooyoung. And it would still be him, and for a while, Yeosang supposed.

The fact seemed to hurt more as time went by. Wooyoung had left without telling Yeosang.

Well, he had left without telling essentially _anyone_ , but in some very rare moments, Yeosang didn’t care about that. In some very rare moments, Yeosang couldn’t help but feel selfish, and perhaps even a little resentful, that Wooyoung hadn’t at least told him he would be leaving.

But even in those moments when he knew he was being egocentric like that, he couldn’t help it. Yeosang knew very well that Wooyoung hadn’t only left him, he’d left _all_ of them, but despite knowing this fact, he chose to dwell on that part of it anyway.

And that seemed to make the whole thing worse, because he just _couldn’t stop thinking_ about it. Thinking about how Wooyoung had left Yeosang knowing it would hurt him. Wooyoung had left not having confided in Yeosang. At least, not completely.

There was a part of his mind that was practically screaming at him to get over it, that he should get over Wooyoung soon enough because there was no way he should ever stoop low enough to sulk over a boy who had left him. But those thoughts were rather insignificant when it came to everything else—that was, the emotional hurt. The fact that Yeosang had given Wooyoung everything he could offer. The fact that Wooyoung had come and gone in the span of what seemed like a moment, in retrospect. The fact that Yeosang felt like he’d given his whole heart to Wooyoung, only for him to spike it to the ground as if it was of little significance.

It was during those times when Yeosang was left alone with his thoughts that he was all but consumed by them. Whenever he was sure that San was soundly asleep, he would subconsciously go through all the photos he had saved of Wooyoung on his phone, or the text messages (those were particularly hard to stay away from), even though he knew it would hurt him.

Or whenever he was on the train and had nothing else to do—because at this point, he’d pretty much memorised what the surrounding landscape looked like, so there was no point in looking out the window—Yeosang would go through his phone again. And if he was tired of that, he would simply sit there and inwardly go through the memories of Wooyoung (with a little strain) that he was fond of, even though he knew that would hurt him, too.

Or whenever he did either of those things, Yeosang would wonder if Wooyoung ever loved him at all. He would wonder if Wooyoung knew how much he had Yeosang wrapped around his finger, even though he knew it would hurt him. Like it did every other time.

At that point, any worries Yeosang had about crying over Wooyoung being a pathetic thing to do was significantly trivial. At least, compared to everything else.

Of course, there was always one recurring thought that all but rang around his head like small blue birds.

Why had Wooyoung left?

It was at very unusual moments that Yeosang would feel something akin to a sting in his chest whenever he thought of it, which was why he tried his best not to think about it in the first place.

It was normally when he had nothing to do, and nothing to think about, which thus resulted in him thinking about it, anyway.

And it was happening now. Yeosang had fallen asleep at the local library, and thereafter wandered around the city alone for who-knew-how-long before he realised he’d been awake hours into the night. It had to take about a dozen simultaneous text messages from Yunho and Mingi for him to realise how long he’d been gone.

San wasn’t going to ask about his whereabouts now. At least, he wouldn’t be asking because he was concerned, but rather to use the information to avoid him once again.

Yeosang glanced at the time displayed at the top corner—just twelve minutes past 2 AM—before he sent a short message to both Yunho and Mingi. He shut his phone off before he made his way into the station concourse, eyes having to blink once when he saw the absolute lack of people. If there was someone he happened to see, they were idly walking away to their respective platforms. Everyone was alone.

He scanned his transport card onto a ticket machine and checked the balance, pursing his lips when he saw the negative symbol in front of a four digit number. He realised he would have to top up soon, before some sort of controller checked it out. Straightening up and shoving the card back into his pocket, he rushed down to the platform that would have the train he needed to take.

Here, there were a lot less people than in the main concourse. Down the platform, Yeosang saw a single man on his phone, all the way at the end. Yeosang glanced at the time on the digital clock above him, blinking the sleep out of his eyes once again, and was glad when he noticed it wasn’t long before his train would arrive. Trains weren’t that frequent at this time of night, only coming around at hourly intervals, so he guessed he was lucky in this regard.

When he got in his carriage, there was no one there. A few people exited, but they’d been the only people on that part of the train, and by the time the train ended up leaving the station, Yeosang was the only person in his carriage.

It was usually when he had nothing else to do, and nothing else to think about, which was now.

Yeosang ran a hand through his hair, grimacing when he noticed that it was thick with grease. He then plucked his phone out of his pocket and went to his contacts. He scrolled down, and, before he knew he was doing it, pressed on Wooyoung’s name.

It was too quiet. Too, too quiet. The purring of the engine of the train was there, but the silent atmosphere inside somehow seemed to override that, too. Yeosang felt so out of place. Like he didn’t belong on the train so late at night.

His finger hovered over Wooyoung’s contact details. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. Yeosang was about to look up from the screen when his phone suddenly started vibrating in his hands.

He had to widen his eyes on demand to properly see who was calling him, the grains of sleep lining his eyes still prominent. He almost dropped his phone when he saw that Wooyoung’s contact name was still there, except now altered so that the font was bigger, changed so that the name was there to indicate that Yeosang was calling him.

But that couldn’t be right. Yeosang didn’t actually press on the call button, did he? No, he was just looking at it. Unless—?

Yeosang squinted. No… Wooyoung was calling him.

He didn’t know his hand was slightly shaking until his finger slid across the screen, until he answered the call.

Yeosang stared at the time stamp that presented itself under Wooyoung’s contact name. It started at 00:00, then a second passed where it became 00:01, two, three four five, and then suddenly twenty seconds had gone by before Yeosang realised that neither of them had bothered to say anything.

Was this really happening?

But then Wooyoung’s voice was there, like Yeosang subconsciously expected it would be.

“Yeosangie,” he murmured. “I didn’t think you would pick up.”

 _Yeosangie_.

The thought brought a bitter taste to his mouth, but hearing him, Wooyoung calling his name in that low, quiet mumble, a little staticky because of the reception, tugged at his heart. Yeosang’s hand clenched around his phone before he put it on top of his thigh. He didn’t bother to put him on speaker, because he knew even with the whirring of the train engine, he would still be able to hear him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but found himself incapable of doing so. He cleared his throat quietly, before saying, “Hi, Wooyoung.”

It was silent again, and Yeosang watched the timestamp on the screen. Barely 40 seconds had passed before Wooyoung spoke again, his voice possibly even more lower than it had been the first time.

“Are you okay, Yeosangie?”

Upon hearing the question, Yeosang wanted to laugh, but he didn’t really know why. Was he really okay? He didn’t know that, either. Part of him thought his uncertainty was a result of Wooyoung calling him at 2 AM while he was on the train, but another part thought it was just. Wooyoung. Sweet, silly, precious Wooyoung who was always to the point, skipping any and every preamble whenever he could. Perhaps one of the few traits that got him into trouble more often than not.

Yeosang swallowed, trying to get rid of the thick feeling surrounding his throat. His mind was so full, so full of thoughts and flashing old images, and yet, nothing that could help him properly articulate a sentence.

It was a moment before he eventually responded. He was silent for so long he himself thought he wouldn’t respond in the end. He said, “I don’t know. I guess I am. I don’t know.”

Yeosang half-expected Wooyoung to make a small sound that indicated he found some sort of amusement in his answer, but all he received in response was silence. Silence, lighter than the first one, but definitely prominent in its existence. Yeosang felt short of breath for just a moment, choking on almost nothing for a split second. He desperately hoped Wooyoung didn’t hear him.

The thought struck him like a punch to the chest. Wooyoung wouldn’t be on call for him for the whole night. Or at least, the rest of it.

Yeosang suddenly felt some semblance of panic rise up from his chest into his throat. Wooyoung wouldn’t be here with him, like this, for very long, so he was going to have to savour whatever few minutes, seconds he had left before one of them hung up. His eyes latched onto the screen again, gaze trained on the timestamp. If the seconds were going just a little fast before, then they were passing by in a rapid succession now. Yeosang pushed his hands into his pockets in an effort to stop himself from wringing them.

“I hear something in the background. Are you taking the train, Yeosangie?”

The name. God, the _name_. Yeosang’s name. He knew Wooyoung was saying it in an effort to coax Yeosang into talking; it was painfully obvious. He felt his heart clench this time. Hell if he knew why it hurt. “Yeah,” Yeosang said in a mumble. “I don’t… I don’t hear anything from your side. You’re not on the train.”

“I’m not.”

Yeosang wanted to hurl his phone at the set of seats in front of him. He hated this, hated it so much. Why couldn’t they talk normally? Why had their relationship become so stiff? So fucking _stilted_?

A wave of pain throbbed across Yeosang’s face, and he realised dimly that he was clenching his jaw in an attempt to stop himself from crying. He felt gross all of a sudden, his nose going runny and his throat closing up—but of course this would happen. If there was anyone who could make Yeosang cry, the one person who was least susceptible to expressing his emotions in such a way, it was Wooyoung.

The first tear fell onto his thigh before he could stop himself. And then they all came down at once, quick to dampen the area around his pants where his phone lay, then the screen. He closed his eyes and bit his lip around a frown, swallowing down a whimper. Wooyoung didn’t need to know he was crying.

However, the same thing didn’t seem to apply to the other side. Yeosang didn’t have to strain his ears to hear the sad, plaintive noises coming from Wooyoung’s end of the line. There was a second where Wooyoung emitted a barely suppressed sob.

Yeosang stayed silent, but was tempted to speak. Tempted to say, “ _Why are you crying? Why are you crying when you’re the one who left? When I’m the one who regrets opening up to you?_ ”

“Yeosangie,” Wooyoung said after a moment. He seemed to have composed himself, now no longer completely crying, but rather speaking through the tremors in his voice. “What are you even doing this late at night on the train?”

Yeosang was thankful for the question. It made their conversation less rigid. It didn’t, however, make the ache in his chest go away. “Nothing. I just… spent a little too long at the library. That’s all.”

“Sounds like you. I’m just in my bed.” Yeosang could just barely make out the small intonation of amusement in his voice. He wanted to curl in on himself.

“Wooyoung…” It was hard to go on, but Yeosang forced himself anyway. “Did I do something wrong?”

There was a moment’s hesitation from Wooyoung’s side. “No. No, you didn’t, Yeosangie.”

“Wooyoung.” He bit his lip. “Please don’t lie to me. Tell me everything. Tell me the truth.”

“I am.”

Yeosang sucked in a breath through his teeth. He didn’t know what to say, but fortunately he didn’t have to worry about that for long, because Wooyoung continued.

“You weren’t the problem. You were never the problem,” Wooyoung said. He sounded tired. Yeosang had half a mind just to end the call, so as to save Wooyoung any further disturbances to his sleep. “I knew that Sanghee would hurt me, and I had this gut feeling that he would hurt anyone that was associated with me—that he would hurt you, and I couldn’t bear that thought.”

The words stung in a new, foreign way. Yeosang hated it.

“I would never let you get hurt, Yeosangie, never. It hurts to think about it still, that I was a contributing factor. That you being with me could possibly end up with you being harmed,” Wooyoung whispered. Then he laughed, but it was squeaky, weak and strained. Like he’d lost his voice to crying so much. “Yeosangie, I could never let you get hurt.”

“But why did you really leave?” Yeosang demanded. “I know you didn’t want me to get hurt, but we could’ve prevented that. We could’ve just—just called some authority on Sanghee or something. Did you really have to go?”

“Yeah, I did, Yeosang,” came Wooyoung’s quick response. “I didn’t even like Seoul life that much. As soon as I stepped into Seoul, I wanted to go back to Ilsan. You already know that, don’t you? Unless you don’t remember…”

No, Yeosang did remember. Maybe a little too clearly. He knew a lot of things about Wooyoung, and one of those things was that he wasn’t all that fond of life in Seoul, despite how much it looked like he was.

That hurt. He was so happy with Yeosang, but not here.

Yeosang stayed silent for a while before he found the words to say.

“So you really did leave?” he asked, voice lowered to the same quiet murmur.

He didn’t know why he’d bothered to minimise the volume of his voice. There was no one else on his carriage, which meant he would be bothering no one if he suddenly decided to yell. Shout. Scream. Sob.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung said.

“So does that mean…” He clenched his jaw, hard enough that it hurt. “Does that mean you’re leaving me?”

“Yeah.”

Wooyoung ended the call. Yeosang’s phone slid off his lap and onto the dirty subway floor with a loud thud as he let all his pent up emotions take over. He cried before he knew it was happening, sobbing into the palms of his hands, despite knowing very well he should have known something like this was going to happen.

He cried until his voice got dry, until his eyes itched. He missed his stop.

♤ ♤ ♤

If Yeosang closed his eyes, he could imagine a prairie.

If he imagined hard enough, he could see large mountains surrounding the overgrown field. If he could put himself deeper into his own mind, he could imagine how the tall grass, accompanied with the stems of even taller sunflowers, would feel against his legs. There was only a light breeze, and yet it was enough to blow away the loose leaves of the pine trees in the distance. The sky was cloudless.

The same as it had been before.

♤ ♤ ♤

San was pushing three days now, and it was eating Yeosang up alive. He knew San was non-confrontational, always steering clear of any and every chance to start something, and Yeosang knew himself to be like that too, but this was different. He wouldn’t let San push any more now. Not after that.

It took another (this time, not so coincidental) meet up with Seonghwa and Hongjoong for him to decide a few other things as well. Yeosang had come up to their shared, separate apartment off campus to pay Hongjoong back for some money he had lent him about a month ago, which he’d forgotten about until now. He hadn’t planned to stay long, but Seonghwa’s sudden insistence was a bit hard to fend off.

“Yeosang-ah, you should at least have some food before you go,” Seonghwa implored, holding out the small bowl of food out in front of him. “You must be starving.”

Yeosang wasn’t actually starving, but he hadn’t had breakfast—but he wasn’t about to divulge that to Seonghwa.

“No, I need to go soon,” Yeosang explained, using his hands to push the bowl away. Hongjoong snickered behind Seonghwa. “I need to catch up to San before he can run away again.”

Seonghwa put the bowl on the table behind him with a frown. “You’ve been trying to get a hold of San for days now. He hasn’t replied to your calls or messages?”

Yeosang shook his head. “He doesn’t sleep in our dorm anymore either. I think he goes to Mingi and Yunho or someone,” he said.

“He slept over here once as well,” Hongjoong chimed in. “Last night.”

That would explain why San had shown up late to their morning lecture today. Now, even in their classes, San made sure to keep a wide berth between him and Yeosang, that wasn’t in any way subtle. He figured it must be bad if San was going to avoid him in their lectures, too.

“Why has he been ignoring you, anyway?” Seonghwa asked, obliviously. “You haven’t told either of us.”

“He doesn’t need to,” Hongjoong said. He looked to Yeosang, lifting a single brow up. “I already know. San told me.”

Yeosang was just barely able to meet Hongjoong’s gaze, despite how hard the gravity of his words had practically slammed into him. He put his hands behind his back as he sighed. He asked, “San told you?”

Hongjoong nodded solemnly. “Yeah, and also long before he started ignoring you. He told me not to tell anyone, but I guess that wouldn’t really do any impact now, would it?”

Yeosang didn’t like the candidness of his words, but he knew he was right. Hongjoong was almost always right.

Seonghwa seemed to piece it all together soon enough, widening his eyes in surprise just seconds after Hongjoong’s statement. “Oh? This is why San has been ignoring you? Because you found out?”

Yeosang glanced at him. “I thought you said you didn’t know.”

Seonghwa’s mouth pulled upwards in a fleeting smile. “I know about San, I just didn’t know about you finding out. You know when Hongjoong says he won’t tell anyone, he actually means ‘anyone but _me_ ’. I’m privy to almost everything Hongjoong knows,” he said, as if the answer was obvious. “I thought you of all people would understand that by now, Yeosang-ah.”

He did, but things like that seemed to fly over his head now. A lot of things, in fact. Like what San was currently hiding from him.

Yeosang sucked in a breath through his teeth and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets. Hongjoong and Seonghwa didn’t need to see them trembling. “I think I should go now. San might be leaving as we speak.”

This time, Seonghwa didn’t bother with any other form of resistance. Yeosang felt the elder couple’s eyes on him as he turned on his heel and walked out of the front door, muttering his farewell under his breath.

Yeosang made sure to speed walk his way to the bus stop instead of rushing. He had wasted his breath trying to get a hold of San before, multiple times, and he wouldn’t let it happen again.

When he arrived at the dormitory, he made sure to check the landing of the stairs before he made his way up on the elevator. He wasn’t all too sure yet how far San would really go in regards to ignoring him, like taking the stairs instead of the elevator, but he wasn’t about to risk losing him again. Not when he was trying so hard.

Yeosang’s leg kept on bouncing on its heel as he waited for the elevator to reach his floor. When it did, he found his hands trembling again. He hoped desperately that San was in the room before he unlocked it with his key.

He half-expected the same result as before and all the other times he tried—an empty dorm room—but what he hadn’t anticipated was for San sitting at the foot of his bed, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around his legs as he seemingly gazed into nothingness.

San’s eyes darted to Yeosang when he saw him enter, and he was already scrambling for the phone beside him—

“San-ah,” Yeosang said quickly, shutting the door behind him. San stood up and walked to the other end of the room, grabbing a stray jacket. “San-ah, please listen to me—wait, shit, don’t leave—”

“Sorry, Yeosang, I have to go,” San cut him off, shrugging the jacket on. He stuffed his phone in his pocket, but Yeosang adamantly stood in front of the door, blocking him. San’s face was expressionless. “ _Yeosang_.”

“No.” Yeosang levelled him with a hard look. “You’ve been avoiding me for too long. We need to talk.”

“We’ve already talked.”

“The fuck we did.” Yeosang bit back a scoff, squaring his shoulders. “I need to know what’s going on with you, and you constantly ignoring me isn’t going to help in any way. The longer you do that, the more tense this whole thing is gonna get.”

San scowled, but Yeosang knew intrinsically that he was heeding his words. He waited a moment before continuing.

“San, please.” Yeosang let his shoulders loose, despite the fact that it didn’t do much to alleviate the tension he felt. “Can we just talk? For even a little bit? Then I’ll let you leave. Let’s just talk and I’ll let you run off.”

Yeosang knew what he was doing to San, what conflict he was putting him through by accosting him like this. He himself didn’t like it either, but he also knew that none of this would be resolved if they continued on like this. That was only the foundation of it all.

San was silent for a long moment, each second that passed making the atmosphere around them being more strained than the last one. Finally, he agreed, “Yeah, okay.”

Yeosang exhaled once before he strode over to his bed and sat down on the edge of it. Once he was sure San wouldn’t try anything funny with him, Yeosang moved so that he was sitting on the center of San’s bed, cross-legged.

Yeosang pointed to the empty spot in front of him, and at first San hesitated, but with a little prompting, he eventually complied, sitting so that he was also cross legged, facing Yeosang.

“Just… talk whenever you’re ready,” Yeosang said. “I’m listening.”

San gave Yeosang a long look, as if contemplating his choices, deliberating whether he should tell him the truth. Yeosang didn’t mind. He knew in the back of his head that he was ready to wait hours for San, just as long as they didn’t have to continue playing this admittedly horrible cat and mouse game.

“Well,” San started, lowering his gaze. “You can probably guess why I’m ignoring you. You know, that thing that happened three days ago.”

Yeosang remembered, and it was true that he could easily guess, but he just wanted San to confirm it. Just to make sure that he wasn’t going crazy imagining it all. Everything was uncertain, and Yeosang was now all but clinging to whatever scrap of surety he could somehow manifest.

“Listen,” San said. He risked a brief glance at Yeosang, holding eye contact for a split second before he looked back down at his lap. “Please, just pay attention to my words for a second, okay? I just—listen, what I’m about to tell you—can we just still be friends? The last thing I want is for this—this _thing_ to ruin our friendship. Please, please just promise me that, Yeosangie…”

Yeosang only studied him for a second before he nodded. “I promise,” he said.

San nodded as well, pursing his lips. “Well, yeah. For a little while, I did… I did have feelings for you.”

He had a feeling that his guess was right, but now that he knew it was true for a fact, Yeosang still couldn’t help but feel surprised. He made sure not to show it much, though, simply nodding once in acknowledgement, giving way for San to continue.

“And I—” San forced out a smile, and it was near painful how dry it looked. “You obviously don’t really need to know this, but—”

“Tell me whatever,” Yeosang said. “Just as long as you don’t have anything on your chest.”

There was another smile on San’s face then, but this time it wasn’t as sardonic. “Are you sure? I don’t know how well you’ll really take it if I told you… this.”

“I just told you,” Yeosang said plainly. “I won’t let it affect our friendship at all.”

“Even if I told you that I had just a teensy weensy little problem with you and Wooyoung being together? While you were together?”

Yeosang blinked. It was a single statement, and yet it took a little longer for the words to settle into his head. When they did, he gave San a sympathetic smile. “No, it won’t,” he replied.

“I mean, you did tell me to get off whatever was on my chest…” San paused, looking almost embarrassed for a split second.

“You can tell me anything,” Yeosang prompted. “I don’t care what it is you have to say at this point, just get everything off your mind.”

San’s jaw gave a slight twitch, and he was silent for a while, so long that Yeosang nearly assumed he wouldn’t respond at all. Eventually, San said, “It did hurt a little bit, not gonna lie. I mean, I liked you, but you liked Wooyoung, and Wooyoung liked you back. And then before I knew it, you both were in a relationship. I couldn’t win, even if I wanted to.”

Suddenly all those times Yeosang and Wooyoung had kicked him out of the dorm resurfaced so that they were at the front of Yeosang’s head. He had felt bad about doing all that before, but now hearing San explain all his underlying sentiments made him feel ten times worse.

All those tight-lipped smiles and subtly passive-aggressive words seemed to make sense now. San hadn’t only been annoyed at the inconvenience he’d endured having to move between other people’s dorms to sleep. No, it was deeper than that.

Yeosang was tempted to move closer and offer San some form of physical comfort, but couldn’t find it in himself to actually do it. He knew San wasn’t done talking.

“I’m not saying this to guilt trip you into anything,” San clarified hastily, looking panicked for the slightest second. “Really, I’m not. That’s the last thing I wanna do. I know you still love Wooyoung, and I’m still trying to get over my feelings. But please, Yeosangie—”

San took Yeosang’s hands into his own. Yeosang noticed how his eyes had softened now, a complete contrast from the hardness that he’d shown him just minutes before. Yeosang knew that nothing about what he was doing or saying was insincere. He knew San well enough to be sure of that.

“Please, Yeosangie, I just want you to promise me this one thing,” San pleaded, his voice just hardly above a whisper. “This is all I ask of you.”

Yeosang gave him a single nod. “Okay.”

“Please.” San sighed. “Please, I just want us to go back to normal again. I know Wooyoung leaving hurt you deeply, and it hurt me too, and that I’m trying to move past my own feelings, but I don’t want anything that’s going on right now to affect our friendship. I know this of all things isn’t easy, but I want both of us to at least try. You’re really valuable to me, and I don’t say that without conviction. You’re one of my best friends, and I don’t wanna lose you to this—this mess.”

Something about his words moved Yeosang immensely. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, or which part of San’s brief speech stood out to him the most, but he knew in that moment he’d gotten San back. He’d gotten his friend back.

“You’re one of my best friends, too,” Yeosang replied. “Thanks for talking to me, Sannie. I’m sorry if it was hard, but I’m glad all that’s past us now.”

San’s face lit up with a bright smile, and Yeosang couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a grin that big on his face before. Before Yeosang could do more than smile back, San had pulled him into a tight hug.

“Thank you so much, Yeosangie,” San said, his voice muffled where he buried his face in the crook of Yeosang’s shoulder. “You’re such a good friend.”

Yeosang hugged him back, wanting more than ever to tell San things of the same sort, but kept his mouth shut. He wanted to savour this moment for as long as it lasted.

San pulled back just a little, enough so that he could see Yeosang’s face without completely detaching from him. “Hey,” he said, voice coming out in the form of a mumble. “Listen. You’re strong. I know you’re strong. I know you’re going to get through whatever you’re going through, and if you ever need me, you know I’m always gonna be on your side, right? Okay?”

Yeosang guessed that San was anticipating a response, so he quickly nodded.

“Good,” said San. “Call me dramatic or whatever, but we’re both fighters, Yeosangie. We’re going to be okay. Everything will be all right soon.”

San’s words were more than convincing. Yeosang subconsciously knew that they would somehow overpower everything else, especially his own attempts to convince himself the same thing.

♤ ♤ ♤

As Yeosang stared at the mass of sunflowers before him, then at the glaring sun, he wondered how everything had come to this point. He wondered why he had chosen to stick with sunflowers, instead of other flowers, like daisies, or peonies. He wondered why he imagined tall, overpowering mountains to surround the prairie, rather than loud, blue seas. He wondered why he had chosen a small hut to be there, instead of a mansion, or even a regular house.

Yeosang thought back to the memory of him trying to run after Wooyoung in the rain, and wondered if, perhaps, he was never meant to catch him at all.

♤ ♤ ♤

**[now]**

Yeosang pressed his palms on the edge of the counter, resting his weight on his hands as he leaned in the slightest bit. It was all he could do to keep himself upright, even with the absurd amounts of coffee streaming through his veins.

His eyes caught the small box of sleeping pills resting on the counter. The font on the prescription label was that of any other pharmaceutical products’—typewriter-like and boring. Yeosang thought it looked ugly. The man behind the counter that had told him he would “be back in a moment” still hadn’t come back.

He clenched his eyes shut, grasping onto whatever sense of security he could conjure in his head in this sketchy as shit pharmacy. He would have to open them again, soon, lest he fall asleep right where he stood.

Yeosang hated this. He hated the fact that he had changed in such a way, having to rely on pills to regulate his sleeping schedule. He hated the fact that he had to resort to artificial means to bring his shit back together. Granted, he had already done that before, but not to the extent that he was going at now.

He would have to start his third year of university with a shitty physiology and an even shittier mental state of being. There was an uncomfortable churning sensation in his stomach. He wasn’t quite sick, but he wasn’t all that well either, he supposed.

“God-fucking-dammit, Minhee, they don’t have your fucking _pads_ ,” came a voice from the back.

Yeosang turned his head slowly, eyes finding a young man with his phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, facing away from him. In his hands he was holding a variety of things, including small boxes of medication and a dispenser bottle of some sort. He stood in front of an array of hygiene products.

“If you were so desperate, you would’ve come and gotten them yourself,” the man spat into the phone fiercely. “Why the hell did you get me to do it?”

Yeosang told himself to look away, so he did, but he could still hear the man’s voice crystal clear. He and Yeosang were the only people in the pharmacy, at the moment.

“That’s no fucking excuse and you know it,” the man went on. Yeosang heard the anger in his voice, and figured that he wouldn’t need to look back to see it on his face, too. “Well, anyways, they don’t have any of those pads you want. I have no idea why you’re so particular about this—can’t the cheap ones just suffice?”

Yeosang’s eyes went back to the sleeping pills on the counter, and at this point he was wide awake now, the man’s voice behind him having gotten rid of the little slumber that was in his eyes just moments prior. He either didn’t know how loud he was, or he did, but he just didn’t care.

“No,” the man said curtly. “No, Minhee, I’m not getting you any of that shit. I’m just gonna buy you your meds and go. Buy those pads yourself.”

Yeosang didn’t bother to risk a glance back, but he guessed that he’d ended the call, because about half a minute passed with no word from him. He didn’t know why his heart was suddenly hammering against his chest, and he didn’t know how to stop it, either.

The man behind the counter emerged from a door towards the side. He said something to Yeosang that he didn’t really hear, and helped him pay for his sleeping pills. Yeosang asked for the receipt, and the counter man gave it to him.

By the time Yeosang had finished going through his transaction, the man that had been calling “Minhee” was still going around the aisles looking for the things he wanted. Yeosang made sure to keep his gaze lowered to the ground as he exited the pharmacy.

He paused after having crossed the threshold, impulsively deciding to stand about a meter’s distance away from the entrance door, leaning his back on the brick wall. To make it seem like he had something to do, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, but didn’t turn it on.

After about five minutes or so, but what felt like lifetimes, the door to the pharmacy opened, and out came the same man that had been loudly speaking on the phone. 

He was walking the opposite direction, and Yeosang quickly pocketed his phone before he called, “Um, excuse me…”

The man turned, and in the little sunlight the evening would allow, Yeosang saw his face. His mouth was turned downwards in a frown, and there was a sharp edge to his gaze that almost immediately prompted a disconcerted sensation in his stomach. The man stayed silent, obviously waiting for Yeosang to go on.

Yeosang cleared his throat. He had no idea why he was doing this, no idea what was motivating him to do whatever he was doing, but couldn’t find it himself to stop.

“I… Are you related to Minhee? Um, Nam Minhee?”

The man blinked. “I’m her brother. Why? What about her?”

Yeosang forced himself to go on. “You’re Sanghee?”

Something in the air seemed to shift, and Yeosang felt the walls of his throat close up when the man gave him a hard look. “Who are you?” he asked.

It felt almost hard to breathe. Yeosang had the most pressing urge to turn the other direction and just walk away, but swallowed down his fear and went on. “I’m Wooyoung’s… friend,” he forced out. “Jung Wooyoung.”

What Yeosang did not expect was for the man’s expression to change into something oddly amused. He raised a single eyebrow, saying, “Jung Wooyoung? That’s my sister’s ex. Isn’t he that “ _bisexual_ ” bitch?”

The sentence was left hanging in the air as Yeosang simply stared at him. Any semblance of anxiety he had felt before was now promptly replaced with anger, going up from his stomach into his throat. His jaw drew taut, and he clenched his fists in his pockets.

“No,” said Yeosang, feeling betrayed by the way his voice came out quieter than he’d intended. Yeosang had no idea why the guy in front of him had a specific problem with Wooyoung’s bisexuality, but he didn’t really want to know, either. “He’s an actual person. His sexuality isn’t his only personality trait.”

The man—who he had gleaned was Sanghee—plainly chuckled, but there was nothing mirthful about it. If anything, it sounded dark, and mildly hysterical. He took a step forward, and Yeosang noticed something oddly relaxed about his stance.

“Well, you’re his friend, you’d obviously think otherwise. Whatever. At least you know _I_ don’t like him,” said Sanghee.

Yeosang didn’t care about that. He was all but tempted to go on a prolonged spiel about how fucking _stabbing_ him was the most unnecessary thing he could have done in this world but kept his mouth shut. He levelled Sanghee with a cold look before he pivoted on his heel and turned around, ready to stalk away in the opposite direction, only to stop when Sanghee called him.

“Hey, wait.”

Yeosang only moved his head to the side to look at Sanghee. When he’d realised that Sanghee had shortened the distance between them, it prompted a strange, dreadful ripple across his chest. There was only about two feet’s worth of distance between them now, but as much as Yeosang wanted to widen the gap between them, he stayed cemented where he stood. There was an eerily sinister smile on Sanghee’s face.

“You’re Wooyoung’s friend, right?” Sanghee said, but didn’t wait for Yeosang’s response before going on. “You wanna know why I don’t like him? It’s ‘cause he’s an asshole. So fuckin’ rude if you ask me. I think it’s ‘cause he thinks he’s edgy and shit telling people he’s _bisexual_.”

Yeosang felt anger like he had never before, causing him to glower at the man. With his fingers digging into his palms, he turned ever so slightly, just enough so that he was making eye contact with Sanghee. His gaze was still highly unsettling to look at, but he stood his ground.

“I just told you,” Yeosang said. “Wooyoung is an actual person, not just what you think he is in your head. And who knows? Maybe he likes telling people that because it took him a long time to accept that part of himself beforehand. He can flaunt it if he wants. And I don’t really care why you don’t like him. Your opinion doesn’t matter to me.”

Sanghee let out an amused scoff, somehow finding some weird, twisted entertainment in this all. The knot in Yeosang’s stomach tightened almost painfully. “Wow, okay,” said Sanghee. “I see what this is. You’re _in love_ with him.”

“I—”

“Oh, don’t bother.” Sanghee laughed, and it almost made chills run down Yeosang’s spine. “God knows how many people that little bitch Jung Wooyoung has wrapped around his finger.”

Yeosang didn’t know anything else in that moment, other than his fist connecting hard with Sanghee’s face.

A pained grunt sounded through the air as Sanghee stepped back, clutching his jaw. Yeosang spared only a split second’s worth of time looking at him before he all but ran the opposite direction, hearing only the whistle of the wind in his ear. It was when he rounded the corner that he realised his heartbeat was in sync with his fast footsteps.

The fear that was pulsing through his veins now did little to perturb his escape—if anything, it prompted him to keep running—and so he ran until the breath had been knocked out of his lungs, until he felt lightheaded. He saw the blue glint of the bus stop sign in his periphery, and rerouted so that he was standing under the shaded bench.

With his hands trembling, he flopped down onto the empty bench, taking shaky breaths in and out as he tried his best to compose himself. His thighs were burning, and his throat felt impossibly dry. He’d never run like that before in his life.

Through teary eyes, he assessed his surroundings. There were only a few people in sight, simple strangers within his line of sight, but none of them were Sanghee. Yeosang didn’t know how far he had run, but he could tell by where he was that it was nowhere near the pharmacy. His head throbbed.

His hands were still shaking by the time he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He didn’t know what he was texting San until it was sent. He told him simply that he was coming home now, and that he didn’t have to worry about him. When he shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket, his heart was still hammering hard against his ribcage.

He looked back at the last couple of moments in his head as he checked the amount of time it would take for the bus to arrive. Yeosang had no idea why he had particularly done that, only understanding that it was purely out of anger and impulse. More than that, he couldn’t for the life of him pinpoint why he had chosen to approach Sanghee in the first place, but that didn’t matter now. All he had to do from now on was just focus on getting back to the dorms, and hopefully avoid crossing paths with Sanghee again.

Everything he felt about the situation was strangely calm, and not even entirely negative. While he may have thought his every thought and action in these types of circumstances would be frantic and anxious, they certainly weren’t at the moment.

Yeosang was saved the trouble of reliving it all once again when the bus punctually arrived, and he was even fortunate enough to have the door stop right in front of him. The bus wasn’t empty this time, but he still managed to snag a seat.

When San opened the door to let him into their room once Yeosang arrived at the dorms, he somehow immediately sensed that something had happened. He ushered Yeosang in, a hand on his back as he said, “You look tired. Are you okay?”

Yeosang suddenly realised just how tired he was as soon as San had asked him the question, and he exhaled. “You know the guy that attacked Wooyoung?”

San frowned. “Um. Not personally? Why, what about him?”

“I talked to him,” Yeosang said. He sat down on his bed, and the fatigue he was feeling seemed to alleviate just a little. “And I, uh…”

“You what? Did he attack you, too?”

Yeosang’s eyes darted to San. He looked troubled for a second, but Yeosang waved a hand in the air in dismissal. “No, he didn’t. Relax,” he assured. “I punched him, though.”

San’s brows shot to his forehead and he became slack-jawed briefly before he spoke. “You punched him? You _punched_ him? Yeosang what the fuck—” He raked a hand through his hair, scowling deeply. “Yeosang, didn’t you know he was dangerous? He could’ve hurt you!”

“Yeah, but he didn’t hurt me,” Yeosang rebutted coolly. “And he couldn’t have hurt me. I ran away as soon as I hit him.”

“You—?” San heaved out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Yeosang, I don’t know what else to tell you other than you’re an idiot, but dude—,” he gave Yeosang a cold look, “—I think you’re in trouble.”

“He doesn’t know who I am,” Yeosang defended, giving San a non-committal shake of the head. “I just told him I was Wooyoung’s friend, nothing else.”

“Still!” San cried, looking more outraged than Yeosang had seen him in ages. “Yeosang, oh, my God. The guy knows you’re Wooyoung’s friend so he’s gonna send all his goons after us and we’re gonna be cornered before we know it. We’ve gotta move in with Seonghwa- and Hongjoong-hyung. They live off campus, there’s no way they’ll find us there—”

Yeosang simply gave San a dry glare. “San, you’re overreacting. He most likely doesn’t care,” he reasoned calmly. “Plus, it was just a punch. Not like I castrated him or anything.”

“I know for a fact that you would hunt down someone if they punched you and ran away right afterwards.”

“I’m a different story.”

San shuddered visibly. He clearly wasn’t finding any part of this conversation favourable. “Oh, God, Yeosang, what have you done…”

“I’ve done nothing. You’re overreacting and I need a nap.”

He may not have felt too tired talking to San, but as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light.

♤ ♤ ♤

“You _punched_ him?” demanded Seonghwa loudly, horrified.

Seonghwa had stopped stirring what was in the bowl in front of him simply so that he could gape at Yeosang. San threw a glance over his shoulder at Mingi’s sleeping form on Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s couch.

Yeosang was tempted to roll his eyes. “That’s the same thing San said to me,” he mumbled. San let out an amused snort from next to him.

Hongjoong seemed pensive for a moment, before he actually smiled. “The guy got what he deserved, if I’m being honest,” was all he said, in that rather calm tone of his.

Hongjoong’s words prompted an oddly proud sensation to ripple through Yeosang’s chest. He knew violence was by no means the way to solve things, but there was something weirdly satisfying about doing whatever he did to Sanghee, even if it wasn’t much, in retrospect.

“Say thanks, Yeosangie,” San said, playfully nudging Yeosang with this elbow. “Hongjoong-hyung actually complimented you.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hongjoong said before Yeosang could even think of speaking. The elder walked around so that he stood next to Seonghwa behind the kitchen counter. He put a finger into the bowl and scooped up some of the mixture on the pad of it, then sucked it clean. “He got arrested for sexual assault, then also charged for domestic abuse.”

San became slack-jawed at his words. Yeosang merely stood there, unable to stop his eyes widening. “Come again?” San demanded.

Seonghwa spoke this time, instead of Hongjoong. “He wasn’t arrested because of Wooyoung’s assault, obviously, because he didn’t press charges. He’s got an ex-girlfriend that was abused by him and she decided to press charges. So yeah, Namhee—oh, no?” Hongjoong mumbled something to Seonghwa that Yeosang didn’t hear. “Ah, Nam Sanghee,” Seonghwa corrected, nuancing every syllable of his name. “Yeah, Nam Sanghee won’t be bothering you anymore. Or, well, anyone else, for that matter.”

Yeosang thought he heard his heart pounding in his ears, but he didn’t know what for. It was one of those moments again, where things were happening kind of all at once, but it also simultaneously felt like nothing was really happening at all. San put a hand on his shoulder, gently squeezing. Yeosang could feel his eyes on him.

“Yeosangie?” San said softly.

Yeosang blinked. “So he’s been arrested, right? He’s gonna be put on trial, or what?” he asked, looking at both Hongjoong and Seonghwa in turn.

Hongjoong said, “I’m not sure about a trial, but I heard from Minhee that he was definitely arrested—and this morning, too. I went to tell her that I would most likely file a report about him assaulting Wooyoung to the police, then she told me that Sanghee was already arrested, and that I didn’t need to bother.”

Seonghwa’s head shot to Hongjoong. “Wait, I didn’t know that,” he said.

“Well, now you do,” Hongjoong replied, giving Seonghwa a brief smile. Then he turned back to San and Yeosang. “I’ve already tried to tell Wooyoung, but as far as I’m concerned, he hasn’t responded.” He paused so that he could glance at the screen of his phone, then put it down on the countertop. “Well, that’s that. Now you know that the guy who attacked Wooyoung won’t be hurting anyone else anymore. At least, not for now.”

San used the hand that was on Yeosang’s shoulder to make him face him. Yeosang noticed that San was looking at him rather fondly, silently waiting for him to provide him with a response.

Yeosang couldn’t manage a proper reply in words, but he did smile. San smiling back revealed his dimples and bright eyes.

“How very g-word of you,” Hongjoong said.

San gave Hongjoong a look, miffed. Yeosang replied, “You’re literally clinging to Seonghwa-hyung.”

“And that’s literally none of your business,” countered Hongjoong in a voice of ill-concealed said, more a question than anything else.

Mingi strode into the kitchen then, looking around at all of them. His gaze lingered on Yeosang and San. “Now when the hell did you two get here?” he asked in a throaty voice, no doubt having just been roused from his nap.

“Right after you nodded off,” Seonghwa provided. He had a tired look on his face, but it seemed more out of disappointment rather than exhaustion. “I’m just about done with your egg Mingi, so it’s good that you woke up.”

San poked Mingi on the side, eliciting a disgruntled sound from the other boy. When Mingi tried to flick him on the head, San swiftly dodged him, going to stand behind Yeosang, using him as a shield. Hongjoong laughed, while Seonghwa, rather resignedly, moved around the counter to separate Mingi and San, pushing space between them as San clung to Yeosang’s back. Yeosang thought he felt himself grin from ear to ear, and a pleasant, warm sensation rose from his stomach into his chest.

♤ ♤ ♤

Yeosang was wedged between Yunho and Mingi, while the rest of them huddled around the metal pole in the middle of the train carriage. Seonghwa tried to compose an annoyed Hongjoong, gently putting his hands on his shoulders to try and pacify him to the best of his abilities, only to no avail.

“Yeosang is the only person who knows what I’m talking about!” Hongjoong all but exclaimed, and for a second he nearly looked as furious as the rage his voice held. “Yeosang-ah, tell them what you thought about that movie, I _know_ you have something good to say about it.”

Yeosang looked all of them in the eyes in turn, all of them looking right back at him. They’d decided to go watch a movie as a group of seven once Jongho completed his assignment, and now they were in the middle of a rather heated debate about whether the movie they watched was truly worth their money or not.

He let out a sigh before he spoke. “Hyung, I know you fell asleep during that movie. Like, three times, too.”

Mingi and San burst out laughing, and Yunho had to wrap an arm around San’s waist, lest he fell backwards onto the floor. Jongho looked around and used vague hand gestures to tell them to lower the volume of their voices, but San and Mingi only laughed harder when Seonghwa held Hongjoong back from all but charging at Yeosang.

“I only fell asleep once, and it was for a few seconds!” Hongjoong defended, unconvincingly. “Ask Seonghwa, he knows I fell asleep at like 2 last night—tell them, Seonghwa! Tell them!”

“You wouldn’t need to justify yourself,” Yeosang cut in calmly. “You and I both know that movie came out of the sheer need to satisfy the capitalistic movie industry, whether you’d like to admit it or not. God, and that lacklustre acting? Hongjoong-hyung, did you even see the main actor? The guy speaks like a robot—everything he did seemed so calculated, so _technical_. Can you even believe he’s done other movies before this? Can you believe this guy’s been in the industry for _years_ , and yet his acting still resembles that of a—”

Hongjoong gave Yeosang a hard look, and that was enough for Yeosang to stop mid sentence to laugh, covering his mouth with his forearm as Hongjoong continued to glower at him. Hongjoong said, “I was joking when I said I would burn your skateboard but now…”

It was an empty threat, everyone knew that, but San and Mingi erupted into hysterical fits of laughter once more. It took a woman coming up to them to personally tell them herself that they were being a little too loud for them to actually stop, at which point Jongho and Seonghwa shook their heads in mock disappointment.

Once they arrived at the station they were supposed to get off at, Yeosang called for San. The boy unhooked his arm from where it was looped with Yunho’s, and threw Yeosang a glance over his shoulder, asking, “What is it, Yeosang?”

“I think I’m gonna go out for a bit,” Yeosang answered San. He didn’t know why he suddenly felt a ripple of embarrassment flood through his veins, but didn’t bother to dwell on it. “I won’t be too long, maybe an hour or so. I’ll be back soon, I just need to go do this one thing.”

San merely stared at him for a moment, unperturbed by the myriad of people shoving past him to get to their trains. After a while, he said, “Okay. You sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

Yeosang shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Like I told you, I won’t be long; an hour at most. Tell the others I’ve gone. I’ll be back at Hongjoong- and Seonghwa-hyung’s place soon.”

San nodded, flashing Yeosang a small grin. “All right. Text me when you’re heading back, okay? That way we’ll know when to order food,” he said.

Yeosang nodded back, offering San the best reassuring smile he could muster. San and Yunho, who had been listening to their conversation, both gave him a thumbs up, and Yeosang parted ways with them, going farther down the lobby towards the other platforms which took the regional trains.

He didn’t have his destination written down anywhere accessible, but as he made his way down the platform and observed the timetable on the flatscreens suspended above him, he was able to recall certain details that he knew would take him where he wanted to go. Yeosang put his headphones in while he waited for the train to arrive, watching quietly which people were getting on which train. By the time his train came around, the carriage door stopped right in front of him, giving him ample time to take a seat before anyone else could. Though, not that it would have mattered; only a handful of people came into the carriage.

The journey to his destination was the same as he remembered it being the first time. All the stations he passed were the ones he had remembered passing. All the small stretches of scenery the train zoomed past were the same ones he’d passed the first time. Only this time he was alone.

When he arrived at the station he’d wanted to get off at, he assessed his surroundings. There weren’t a lot of people walking around, despite the hour, but Yeosang was inwardly grateful for it. He saw the food kiosk he had once been to in passing, managing to get a quick glimpse of the same women that had served him his food before.

This part was a little difficult. Yeosang had to properly look around and make careful decisions as to where he would need to go to get to his final destination. It was tricky at first, because a lot of the roads and streets seemed almost identical to each other, but once he reached a checkpoint that he knew would lead him to his destination, he was relatively more confident than before.

The field was the same as it had been the last time he’d been here, except this time the sky was an azure blue rather than a bright pink. Yeosang drew his jacket tighter around his shoulders as he made his way towards the field, then sat down near the edges of it, cross-legged, facing the barren field in front of him. He pulled his phone out and queued a song he wanted to listen to.

Yeosang didn’t know how long exactly he was sitting there for, other than the fact that he’d spent a good amount of time simply staring at the horizon. When he had initially gotten here, the sun hung just over his head, but now it was approaching the hills on the opposite side.

He was about to stand up when he suddenly felt someone’s fingers gently wrap around his wrist. Yeosang lowered his hands in a jerking motion, surprised, then turned his head to the side where he met Wooyoung’s gaze.

Wooyoung.

Yeosang could only stare, and that’s essentially all he did. He stared into Wooyoung’s eyes, watching how they crinkled when his face broke out into a grin. He stared at his laugh lines. He stared at his teeth. A light feeling seized his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

Wooyoung continued to smile. He let go of Yeosang’s wrist and, still smiling, gently brushed a thumb over Yeosang’s cheek. Before Yeosang could even properly react, Wooyoung then fondly moved some of Yeosang’s bangs out of his eyes.

Yeosang didn’t know how to act. The sensation that had caused his chest to tighten hadn’t gone away. Was this really happening? He wanted to breathe, speak, just move to get rid of the tight feeling holding his chest together. He wanted to do everything, but did nothing.

“Wooyoung,” was all Yeosang could say. It was as if whatever he was feeling at the moment prevented him from saying anything completely articulate. Not that he could have helped it.

Wooyoung’s grin only seemed to stretch. “Hi, Yeosangie,” he murmured. His black hair glinted in the sunlight.

He didn’t know what compelled him to do the next thing, but he found himself seizing hold of Wooyoung’s hand. The other boy gave Yeosang’s hand a little squeeze, and they stayed like that. Just for a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p.s. this story was actually meant to end in a m*j*r ch*r*ct*r d**th....
> 
> p.p.s. but you didn’t hear that from me /runs away

**Author's Note:**

> you can talk to me here on [twitter](https://twitter.com/JIMINlFlED) or [curiouscat](http://curiouscat.me/joongsfenty) <3


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